


it's time that we grow old and do some shit

by nirky



Series: your heart is the only place that I call home [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon - Universe Alterations, Character Study, F/F, Gen, mentions of Graham/Regina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirky/pseuds/nirky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan is not finding Boston quite so interesting this time around. That is, until an oddly persistent boy comes knocking on her door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. every day I’ll fight not to miss you (and every day I’ll lose)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I cannot write a paragraph without ten people holding my hand, so my heartfelt thank you to my beta, winged_mammal, whose opinion I respect to a probably embarrassing degree. Many thanks also to Alissa and crashed17, for the editing work (and Alissa, your unwavering support inspires me every day).
> 
> PhoenixTat, you are the best test-reader in the whole world, and your comments on the side made this fic better - and brought me many smiles! Thank you.
> 
> Last, but not the least, this one's for you, dustywords - my soundboard, my friend, my unicorn. Without you, I'd still probably be stuck somewhere around the first chapter.
> 
> And, of course, a big hug of gratitude and admiration to flutter2deceive, who has awesome music taste and does very pretty fanmix covers. It's a pleasure having you with me in this adventure. :)
> 
> _< [MIX](http://8tracks.com/flutter2deceive/it-s-time-that-we-grow-old-and-do-some-shit) >_

**_October 22 nd, 2011_ **

Emma Swan curses under her breath as she walks into the lobby of Royals Boston. Her heels are killing her and, after the disastrous fake date brought upon her by another bounty-hunting job, the last thing she needs is to be standing instead of curled up on her couch. She approaches reception and smiles as she notices who is working tonight.

“Hi, Emma,” Kate greets from behind the scared-looking young man. He’s still in training, Emma notes, and Kate’s been promoted to Head of Reception following her recommendation. “Wow, you look stunning. That dress is _hawt_.”

“Hey, Kate. Thanks.” She offers a smile and a self-deprecating shrug.

“Hot date tonight?”

“Sadly no. What a waste of a perfectly good outfit.”

Kate chuckles and lowers her eyes to the screen, stealing the mouse away from the other receptionist. “No Regina Mills checked in today.”

“Had to try anyway.” Emma sighs and leans against the counter, attempting to regather strength. Her day has been an endless list of disappointments.

“We haven’t had any Regina Mills since 2009, Emma,” Kate reminds her, gently. “Maybe you should try looking somewhere else?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Emma admits. It’s true. Emma is very good at finding people, she even managed to make a career out of it in the years she’d been a runaway, but knowing nothing but a name and an incomplete date of birth are very weak clues when it seems like there’s absolutely no record of the woman to be found online. She’s beginning to suspect she had never learned her real name and that realization hurts somewhere inside, in a place Emma likes to pretend doesn’t exist. “I guess it’s better to just let it go anyway.”

Kate eyes her curiously, like she’s about to say something but thinks better of it, “If this Regina Mills ever comes back to Royals, I will give you a call straight away.”

“I know,” Emma says, and she starts tapping her fingers on the mahogany wood, her gaze getting lost in the shiny chandelier of the lobby. She’s exhausted and impatient and it’s no one’s fault but her own. Maybe two years is enough to get over someone. Or maybe Emma never learned how to get over things because it’s been over ten years since Neal abandoned her and she’d never forgotten him either. “Gotta go now. Talk to you later.” She extends her arm and Kate meets her halfway, holding her fingers for a quiet moment.

“Be safe, Emma.”

“Always.”

*

Emma enters her apartment and the first thing she does is take off her shoes. She rests a hand on the corner of the hallway and closes her eyes, breathes deeply once, twice, before feeling brave enough to venture into the living room.

Everything that had made the apartment feel even remotely like home is gone now that Jane has left. There are no paintings or posters on the walls, there are no sketched napkins on every available surface, there are no colorful clothes in every corner.

Without Jane, Emma’s apartment is not that different from a hotel room and Emma can’t quite explain why she’d chosen to stay here when she’d returned to Boston a little less than a year ago. If she’s honest with herself, the decision had been due to a mix of not-so-secretly fearing running into Regina at Royals and finding the chipped Sailor Moon mug Jane had left behind in one of the kitchen cupboards. But Emma is not very good at being honest with herself so she surveys her apartment and believes it’s a lot better to have somewhere that belongs to her than be in a place that is no one’s.

She stares at the paper box in her hand for a moment and then places it on the kitchen island so she can remove the lid. She’s not one for cupcakes but there’s a sad quality to them that attracts her – they look better than they taste, always too sugary on top and too dry where it matters most. Fumbling through her drawers, Emma finds a half-burned candle and sticks it into the center of the cupcake before moving to the table at the corner of the living room.

She is sure she’d left a lighter there last night but of course Emma can’t be trusted to remember where she puts her car keys, much less a damn lighter she uses once in a blue moon, to smoke the rare cigarette. Scoffing, she opens the balcony door and snatches the stupid object from the chair outside.

Boston looks perfect tonight, unnaturally uncloudy for an October evening, and Emma stops, giving herself an instant to take it all in. She plays with the lighter until it burns her thumb and the pain is welcome, as is the cold that is trying to freeze her bare arms. Her entire time in Boston, the second time around, has been lacking in feeling. Pain sometimes feels like an attractive option and her birthday has a tendency to make itself known as the worst day of the year. Thank heavens October 22nd has only happened 28 times in her life and she was too young to remember at least five of those times.

Sitting by the dinner table with all the grace of someone who just wants to sleep off the hangover she doesn’t even have, Emma lights the candle and allows herself a moment of hope and warmth, before closing her eyes and making the same wish she makes every birthday she spends alone.

The knock on the door doesn’t let her finish her thoughts.

Emma blows out the candle and stands up, clumsily fixing her dress. When she opens the door, she doesn’t see anyone at first. It’s the sound of a throat being cleared that gets her to look down.

“Hi.”

She stares at the kid like he’s an alien. She likes kids, she does, but they don’t make a habit of visiting her when they should be in bed already. “Hi.”

“Are you Emma Swan?”

“Yes,” she drawls, eyebrow arched.

“Hi,” he repeats. ”I’m Henry. I’m your son.”

To Emma’s great surprise, this boy, who looks like a Gryffindor wannabe with his ridiculous red and gold scarf, walks right past her and into her apartment. “Kid,” she calls, following him inside, “I don’t have a son.”

“Ten years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?” the boy asks with all the confidence of someone who’s certain he’s right. Emma’s face falls and that seems to be all the answer he needs. “That was me.”

“I…” Emma gasps and gulps and for a moment she feels as if she’s made of heartbreak and panic instead of flesh and bones. “I need a minute.”

In true Emma Swan fashion, she runs and hides in the bathroom. It isn’t her proudest moment but few ever are. The reflection in the mirror doesn’t look like herself – too much make-up, too much hairspray, too much cleavage. Her chest is heaving and her hands are trembling.

Her son, her son, her son.

Or is it her son? Maybe it’s just a con. Her father had always told her to be wary of gold-diggers.

“Do you have any juice?” the kid shouts, breaking through her haze of memories and regrets. “Never mind, found it!”

She leaves the bathroom to see him drinking from the bottle like this is his house, these are his things and he has a right to everything. Whoever adopted this brat wasn’t very good at passing down manners. Except… Emma does exactly the same thing, every single time. Do bad habits come from genes?

“Is this a trick?” she questions, fists clenching and unclenching. She’s out of her comfort zone and Emma doesn’t react well to that at all. Ever. “How did you find me?”

“Internet?” he offers, still too absorbed by the juice to pay attention to Emma’s reactions. “I have the papers at home if you want to see them.”

“Where are your parents?” The boy shrugs and Emma reaches for the landline phone with shaking fingers. “That’s it, I’m calling the cops.”

“And I’ll tell them you kidnapped me.”

“You’re bluffing,” Emma dismisses, pushing buttons on the phone. “I can tell when people are lying.”

“You can?” he asks, and his entire demeanor brightens up somehow. “Is it like a superpower?”

“Yeah.” She crosses her arms and leans against the counter. All she has to do now is press the green button, but she’s hesitating still – her thumb hovers over the key, never really touching it. “You’re not gonna tell the cops anything.”

“I won’t,” he admits, shoulders slumping. He looks up at her and his eyes are so sad for a moment. Whatever happened to this boy? “Please come home with me.”

“Where is home?”

“Storybrooke, Maine.”

“Storybook?”

“Story _brooke_.”

“Seriously?” Emma snaps, her brow furrowing. “Fine. Okay, kid. Let’s get you to Storybrooke.” She’s not happy with her current situation, but the least she can do is make sure the kid is safe. Or so she tells herself. This isn’t something she ever expected to have to deal with.

“Great! I’ll watch TV while I wait for you.”

Emma doesn’t even bother with a response, she just goes to her room and changes into a pair of jeans and a thin shirt, fingers scrolling through her cell phone to see if there’s anything important happening the following day. There isn’t, not on a Sunday, but she calls Jack anyway. Jane would say that it’s a testament to her maturity that she now tries to keep Jack updated about her whereabouts instead of avoiding him like the plague.

Her brother is his usual arrogant self, short words and huffs greeting her every sentence. Emma thinks she loves him, he’s _family_ , and she is certain he loves her for Jack is the only one who knows everything Emma never tells anyone. That’s why his voice softens when Emma explains why she might be skipping the follow-up meeting about the new fundraising campaign and that’s why she hears his smile through miles and miles of static and phone lines.

Jack never gives up on people and Emma keeps on proving him right.

*

Emma is sitting in her bug, staring hopelessly at her GPS. She’s tired and frustrated and she’s not even sure if a ten year-old can sit in the front seat of a car. She could probably add traffic offense to kidnapping if she were to be stopped by the police. This wasn’t what she had in mind when she wished for a better year but it seems her fate is to waste the rest of her evening getting lost in the woods.

“Kid, according to this, Storybrooke doesn’t exist.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“Drive to Rockland and I’ll explain the way from there.”

She sighs and types the destination into the device. It finds the fastest route and Emma rolls her eyes as she glues the thing to her windshield. Fucking fantastic, she has 3 hours and 43 minutes of driving ahead of her.

The journey goes silently for a while and that’s how Emma would prefer to have it but then the kid starts fiddling with the radio and she has to control herself not to shove his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Why is your car so old?” he asks, harassing the button to let tapes out. “It doesn’t even play CDs.”

“I like my car,” she explains, her tone impatient. “It’s yellow and quirky and serves me well enough.” It was also a gift from your mess of a biological father, she thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Do you have any music?”

“In there,” Emma replies, pointing at the glove compartment. “Pick whatever you want.”

The kid takes his sweet time, reading through the contents of every damn mixtape she ever owned. “I don’t know most of these.”

“Well, then you better get started, huh?” she snarks, hands gripping the wheel tighter. She feels bad for the way she’s treating the boy but at the same time she never asked for any of this. As much as she has often wondered what would’ve happened if she’d kept the baby ten years ago, that choice had been made and it wasn’t the sort of choice you’d expect to ever come back to bite you in the ass.

Lucky for her, he doesn’t seem to mind her crankiness much and just makes a decision. The Spice Girls’ _Stop_ fills the air and it grates on Emma’s nerves. Of all the tapes available, of course he had to go for the cheesy 90s hits. Goes great with her current mood. The kid seems to be happy though, so Emma tries to swallow her irritation.

 _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ is playing (and making Emma want to yank out entire chunks of her hair) when the boy pulls out a gigantic book and she gets curious, “What is that?”

“I don’t think you’re ready.” Emma rolls her eyes because this little brat is so full of himself she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“Ready for some fairy tales?” she asks, once she notices the cover, a look of disbelief on her face.

“They’re not fairy tales. Every story in this book is real.”

Emma doesn’t want to, she really doesn’t, but she can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in her throat and comes out in a loud cackle, “Kid, you got problems.”

“My name is Henry, not kid,” he scolds her, and it's clear she offended him. “Use your superpower, see if I’m lying.”

“Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true,” she argues, very softly. She doesn’t think she’s equipped to handle this situation.

“That’s exactly what makes it true.”

Emma scoffs and chooses to leave it at that. The kid looks like he comes from a wealthy home, with his posh clothes and fancy child haircut. It’s pretty clear nobody ever taught him about boundaries and different world views.

“You should know better than anyone,” he insists.

“Oh, should I?” Emma counters, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “Please enlighten me.”

“Yes, because you are in this book.”

She laughs again because what else can she do? “I hope I’m in Aladdin because that one’s my favorite.” Except she’s not sure if Aladdin is actually a fairy tale but that is beside the point.

Henry sulks and decides to ignore her, focusing on the pages in front of him. He flips back and forth, and seems to pay more attention to particular stories while ignoring others. From what Emma can see, that Evil Queen is way hotter than the one in the Disney version. Also, Snow White’s hair is much better.

Fairy tales are more Jane’s thing but Emma enjoys them too. Maybe she’ll get to go through the book before saying goodbye to the kid.

They spend another hour in silence until the tape ends and they argue over what to listen to next. Emma wants the radio on and normal songs but Henry just inserts another adventure-into-nostalgia-land in the tape player.

Being reminded of her grunge phase is more fitting than listening to the sickeningly romantic likes of Hanson and Mariah Carey so she lets it slide. The kid scrunches his nose but doesn’t make any move to replace the tape.

“We’re almost there,” he announces.

Emma looks at the GPS and realizes they’re about five minutes away from Rockland if they keep going straight ahead. Which is why she’s very surprised when she spots a crossroad, “What the hell? That is not in the system!”

“Storybrooke is special. You’ll see.”

“I’m guessing you want me to follow the road the GPS doesn’t recognize?”

“Yes. Go left here and we should be there soon.”

Emma wants to complain but the only reason she’s here is because she’s taking the kid home. He should know where he lives better than she does but the situation is leaving her with a distinct bitter taste in her mouth.

They pass a sign that says “Welcome to Storybrooke” a few minutes later and Emma feels a shiver run down her spine. She’s not comfortable at all; there’s an ominous atmosphere about the place – the kind of cold sweat you get when watching a truly terrifying horror movie. She tries to ignore the sensation and blames it on the fog.

The main road is quite large for a small town and Emma pulls over in front of what looks like a clock tower. “Where do you live?”

“Not telling you,” he says, in that sing-song voice children get when they’re being impossible.

Emma harrumphs and gets out of the car, moving to the other side to drag him out of there. He must feel her annoyance because he steps out as soon as she opens the door. However, he can’t seem to help crossing his arms and staring at her defiantly.

“Look, it’s really late, it’s…” She looks up at the clock and her arms fall to her sides in defeat, “8.15?”

“That clock hasn’t worked my whole life,” he says in such a way that Emma feels this could be the beginning of a very scary story. “Time is frozen here.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Evil Queen cast a curse and sent everyone from the Enchanted Forest here.”

Emma snorts, “An Evil Queen sent a bunch of fairytale characters here? Frozen in time, stuck in Storybrooke, Maine? That’s what you’re going with?”

“It’s true!” he persists and Emma can tell he’s not lying, but she’s fairly certain that’s the whole trouble with being, well, _crazy_. She shudders.

A man chooses that moment to appear on the sidewalk, a Dalmatian walking next to him, and Emma is now absolutely sure that there’s something fishy about this town. Who would walk their dog in the wee hours of the night? And dressed in a tweed suit no less? Creep, she decides right then.

“Henry,” the man calls, “what are you doing here? You missed our session today.”

Emma can’t say it’s a shock the kid’s in therapy and fails at hiding a smirk. She also can’t avoid rolling her eyes at the lies Henry is feeding the man to justify his absence. To his credit, he doesn’t seem to be buying any of it.

“Where does he live?” she interrupts, wanting this nightmare to be over.

“Oh,” the man lets out, like he’s just now realizing she’s there. “Who is this?”

“She’s my mom, Archie,” Henry explains, and Emma doesn’t understand why he says it with such pride. She’s not his mom, he doesn’t even know her.

“I see,” the man replies, appraising her gently. There’s a soothing quality to his attitude in general and Emma finds herself considering he might not be so bad, dog-walking habits aside. “If you stay on this road, you’ll get to Mifflin Street. The mayor’s house is the biggest one there, it should be easy to find.”

“You’re the mayor’s son?” Emma practically shouts, turning her exasperation to the boy again.

“Maybe?”

Well, that explains the Republican haircut.

“Just get in the car, kid.”

They drive in silence as Emma is fuming and there’s a very high possibility she’ll do something she’ll regret if Henry keeps testing her limits. When she sees a sumptuous white manor with a perfectly groomed lawn, she parks the car and turns off the music. She’s a little afraid of what she might find inside and she’s also curious about the boy, despite everything. “That man was your shrink?”

“I’m not crazy,” Henry says and indeed, he does believe everything he’s saying.

“Didn’t say that.” She kind of thought it though, so the kid got her there. “He doesn’t look very cursed to me.”

“They don’t remember who they are, none of them do.”

“Convenient.” She arches an eyebrow at him and opens the door. “Who is he supposed to be then?”

“Jiminy Cricket.” There’s such youthful enthusiasm in his voice that Emma almost wants to believe him.

“I thought your nose grew a little bit, yeah.”

“I’m not Pinocchio!”

“Of course not,” she agrees, leaving the car and heading for the manor’s gate. “’Cause that would be ridiculous.”

He follows after her, his backpack bouncing against his coat with a scraping sound. He’s slumping his shoulders again. “Do you have to take me back there?”

“Kid, your parents must be worried sick about you.”

“I don’t have parents, just a mom and she’s evil,” he cries, and Emma has had enough of this.

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“She is,” he replies quietly, and then he stops and stares at his feet. “She doesn’t love me, she only pretends to.”

Emma feels something relenting inside her for that is a kind of pain she knows all too well. She bends over so she can be at his level and places a hand on his arm. There’s not a lot she can say to that, she doesn’t know him or his family, but she gave birth to this boy so maybe she does owe him something. Temporary comfort, if nothing else. “I’m sure that’s not…”

There’s a loud bang as the front door opens and Emma starts, unaware that opening doors could be that noisy.

“Henry!”

Emma knows that voice.

She looks up to see Regina, _the_ Regina, running in their direction, make-up smudged from crying, the clickety-clack of heels faster and more frantic than she’d remembered, and her heart breaks into a million tiny pieces as the realization of what exactly is happening here dawns on her.

Regina hugs Henry tightly and Emma knows those arms, she knows the way they cling to something they cherish. She knows those eyes and the way they close when emotion is too overwhelming. She knows Regina and Henry _is_ loved.

“Are you okay?” Regina asks in a voice that is shaken and fearful and so unlike her. “Where have you been? What happened?”

“I found my real mom!” Henry yells, anger and spite spilling out of his lungs, and Emma cringes.

He runs past the man who appears to be a police officer and into the house.

It is then that Regina stands up and finally _sees_ Emma. Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, lifts a hand to her chest. She is shocked and confused but beneath it all Emma can see a flash of something still lingering – _hurt_.

“You’re… You’re Henry’s birth mother?”

Emma breathes in deeply because _this_ can’t be happening. What are the odds? How did she end up in the middle of nowhere, Maine, with a long-lost son, only to be facing the woman she’s been sort of trying to find for almost a year?

She tries to collect herself and opens her mouth to speak but all that comes out is a strained “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title is from the song Lover's Spit (the Feist version, because it's the best one).
> 
> Chapter title is from the song Broken, by Tapping the Vein.


	2. I just about managed to forget you (when you appear in a dream)

**_October 23 rd, 2011_ **

_ 3.17 a.m. _

Regina Mills knows that Henry remains awake when she finally leaves the spot where she’d been standing for the last few minutes, beside the closed door of his bedroom. She is in no hurry to go downstairs and meet Emma in her office even if she is aware it can’t be avoided. She sighs and holds on to the banister, both for balance and to remind herself that this, whatever _this_ is, is happening. Emma Swan is real and not just a long-winded hallucination she’d had two years ago. She wants to be furious but so much has happened today, so much is _still_ happening, that all she manages is a vague sense of annoyance wrapped in frustration.

Regina enters her office without speaking and feels the heavy tension of the room settle on her shoulders, thus confirming anxiety as the emotion she would let burn in a raging fire before all others. She busies herself with pouring drinks and sets Emma’s on the coffee table to escape the possibility of their fingers brushing.

She’s not quite ready to face her yet. Regina enjoys order and discipline and Emma Swan is anything but. Especially now that her arrival, with an insubordinate Henry on her toes, on _this_ date, has a meaning so vast she can’t quite grasp it. Not until she rests and recovers from the endless hours of agony Henry’s disappearance had caused her.

She feels Emma’s eyes boring into her, studying her everything, and moves to the small stereo system on the bookshelf. She hasn’t used it in months but she finds it difficult to care when the current silence is such a suffocating presence. She presses play and, unsurprisingly, fate proves to have a sense of humor when it comes to her and only her. The first notes of the waltz from _Swan Lake_ surround them and she slams the off button with less dignity than she’d allow herself under normal circumstances.

When Regina turns, Emma is staring at her, a sort of amused curiosity in those eyes she knew so well once upon a time.

“Your hair…” Emma whispers, and she sounds wistful, dreamy even. How dare she?

“You didn’t expect me to keep the same hairstyle, did you, Miss Swan?” she replies with such venom she can taste it inside her mouth.

Emma flinches and that gives Regina immense satisfaction. “Regina, I…”

“You what, Miss Swan?” she snaps, uncaring and seething. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“The kid, he…” Emma looks smaller than she remembered, cowered on the couch like the scared little child she is. “He came looking for me.”

“How did he find you?” Regina asks, and sips on her cider. “Where did he find you?”

“I don’t know. He said he’d show me the papers.” Emma finishes her drink in one gulp and shuffles uncomfortably. “He just came knocking on my door, uh… a few hours ago?”

“Where did he find you?” Regina insists. She needs to know how far her son went, how long he was at risk of being abducted or assaulted. Emma swallows and averts her eyes. Her hands are fidgety so she hides them between her legs. Regina wishes, so hard she almost craves it, that she didn’t remember what this means but she _does_ , and hates herself for it. Hates Emma too.

“In Boston,” she confesses, very quietly. Regina puts her glass down. It won’t do to show weakness in the face of this revelation. “Henry found my apartment in Boston.”

“You are…” Regina feels her voice cracking and clears her throat to mask it. “You are back in Boston?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, still not able to look at her. “I’ve been back for almost a year.”

“I see.” Regina doesn’t know how else to respond to this. She is uncertain whether hearing the explanation for how this came to be is a good idea or just another terrible plan to add to her infinite list of questionable decisions.

“Regina, I…” Emma says, once again. Regina remembers all the times Emma started a conversation this way and scowls. Nothing good ever came of that. She watches as Emma passes a hand through her blonde curls and takes a deep breath. Then Emma straightens her back, locks eyes with her and _that_ is the Emma Swan she tried very hard to forget. That she had almost forgotten. “I tried to find you, but you changed your number. You never checked in at Royals again. Or at any other of Boston’s fancy hotels, I asked around there too,” she adds, her hands no longer fidgety and now just an extension of her speech. As they’ve always been. “I used all of my online resources but there’s no record of you. It’s like you don’t exist!”

Regina smirks. In all fairness, she shouldn’t exist in this world. And if the universe had been just, or Snow White had been less of a hope-filled fool, she wouldn’t exist in the other world either.

“I am right here, dear.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly take a lot of credit for that, can I?” Emma scoffs, and Regina suppresses a laugh. The evil side of her is very pleased that Emma’s efforts had been fruitless.

But the evil side of her is also infinitely angry that she’d let herself feel again only to be abandoned on a whim, naked and scorned in a cold bed. The evil side of her is positively livid that she has to even _look_ at Emma Swan again.

“Did you know?” she asks, focusing on the amber liquid in her glass and willing it to become boiling water so she can throw it at Emma Swan’s annoyingly still beautiful face. It’s a shame magic doesn’t work in Storybrooke.

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know that Henry was your biological son,” Regina lifts her eyes and glares at Emma, haughty and cruel, “when you came to me that night with ridiculous stories about Paris?”

“What?” Emma stands up and tries to reach her, but she steps back. “Regina, no.” Emma sighs and repeats her nervous gesture of brushing her hair away. Regina loathes it. “I haven’t heard anything about Henry since the day he was born. I never tried to look for him either. I just… I approached you because you are fucking gorgeous, you know that.”

Regina lets out a cackle; a hollow, lifeless sound that aptly represents the emptiness of her soul. “What a marvelous coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, and sits back down with an ungraceful _whoof_. “What a seriously fucked up coincidence.”

“And tell me, Miss Swan,” Regina starts, and she is perfectly aware that she is about to hit where it hurts the most, “did you decide to abandon Henry before or after you inherited a multi-billion dollar business?”

“What the hell?” Emma tightens her fists, her eyes narrowing with defiance. Oh, this is almost where Regina wants her. _Almost._ “You have no right.”

“Don’t I?” she argues, walking indolently from one end of the fireplace to the other. She feels like a cartoonish villain but right now that is an amazing sensation. “Henry is my son and I can’t help wondering how I got to be so lucky when the woman who gave birth to him had all the resources and more to give him a good life.”

“You know nothing about my life.”

“Oh, that’s a first,” Regina says with a thin, plastic smile. “Not that I’m surprised to hear that all those stories aren’t true.” She sneers, “They did seem quite creative.”

Emma’s chest is heaving and Regina suspects unshed tears might be the reason her eyes are gleaming.

“So what was it, Miss Swan?” Regina stops and turns, holding Emma’s gaze with a merciless stare, “Did you have to keep the pregnancy a secret from your perfect little family?”

Emma clasps her hands together and hides them between her thighs again. She is vulnerable when all Regina wants is to see her furious.

“Or was daddy too ashamed of his pregnant teenage daughter?” She doesn’t remember how old Emma was when her parents died but that isn’t relevant to the pain she’s trying to inflict.

“I was in prison!” Emma snaps, and wipes away at her eyes, leaving them dry and red. “I was in prison when I had Henry. Happy now?”

“Not quite,” Regina counters, but she _is_ surprised.

“I ran away after my parents died, was on the run for a few years. Made a lot of bad choices, met some worse people, ended up pregnant and in jail.”

Regina is certain a book could be written with what Emma isn’t telling her but she doesn’t push for more information. Apparently, she still masters the art of recognizing Emma Swan’s timings and idiosyncrasies.

“I never meant to return to the Cohens, but Jack found me and brought me… back.” Emma gulps. She had been about to say “home” but Regina hasn’t forgotten there is no such thing for Emma Swan. “By then, Henry was about two years-old and very much adopted, as you know. I didn’t think it was my place to find him.”

“It was a closed adoption.”

“Yes,” Emma says, and looks down. Regina feels her anger dissipate and she’s left with the numb ache of the past two years. She sits on the couch next to Emma’s, doesn’t trust herself to sit on the same one when it feels so tempting to rest her hand on the blonde’s forearm and try to understand. “You’re his mom.”

“I am.”

Silence settles around them and it’s no longer tense. It’s not even uncomfortable. It just is, like a reminiscence of long lost mornings spent on white bed sheets in the sunlight.

“I am a single mom,” Regina finds herself saying, “I push forward. I suppose I am strict,” she adds, and offers Emma a small smile, “but I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life.” She inhales and exhales, remembers all the arguments she’s had with her son in the past months. “I don’t think that makes me evil… Do you?”

Emma blinks and falters and Regina can tell she’s feeling awkward. “I’m… sure he’s only saying that because of the fairytale thing.”

Regina expected a lot of answers, but a mention of fairytales is very far from what she had considered to even be in the realm of possibility. She hopes Emma doesn’t notice her effort to school her features into surprise rather than alarm. “What fairytale thing?”

“You know, his book,” Emma explains, and her smile is warm, her hands are gesticulating again, and this cannot possibly be happening. “How he thinks everyone’s a cartoon character from it? Like his shrink, he’s Jiminy Cricket.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina stammers. She shakes her head a little, tries to get rid of the growing trepidation taking over her chest. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Emma pauses, and studies her for a moment before replying, “You know what? It’s none of my business.” She nods and Regina notices the way her eyes flicker from Regina’s lips back to her eyes. “He’s your kid.”

“You should go,” Regina says, standing up and walking to the door of the office. This conversation has gone on long enough and it’s now veering into dangerous territory that she does not wish to see addressed. “Thank you for bringing Henry home safely.”

Emma follows her and soon they’re on the porch, the front door wide open behind Regina. They stand there for almost a minute, looking at each other, and there’s a part of Regina that finds closure in this moment. Emma’s hair has more waves than Regina remembered but her hair always felt different every time they met and so even this feels familiar. The leather jacket is red but it seems to be slightly different than the one she used to wear. Her eyes are still kind and she still carries across an aura of someone who is sure they will somehow destroy everything that feels good at any given second. It’s an aura that suits her, Regina ponders, for Emma Swan does have a talent for ending anything that might bring her joy.

“Good night, Miss Swan,” she breaks the silence, and tries not to be entirely unpleasant. “Have a nice trip back to Boston.”

Emma’s brows knit together and she looks like a kicked puppy, all hurt and tenderness and self-righteous indignation. It would be an endearing sight if Regina wasn’t so keen in putting an end to the logical impossibility that is Emma Swan’s presence in Storybrooke.

“I’m so sorry, Regina…” she whimpers and for a fraction of a second Regina thinks Emma will do something incredibly stupid and impulsive like _give her a hug_ but the moment is gone as soon as it arrives.

“Good night, Miss Swan,” she repeats with finality, and it is a testament to her determination that Regina doesn’t look back, not even to close the door.

*

When Regina enters her bedroom, she’s startled to see that Graham is there, half asleep on top of her covers. He must have climbed back into her bedroom, knowing she could make good use of him after such an awful day.

She wakes him up with a rough kiss and he responds without hesitation, not even fully conscious yet. Like the well-trained guard dog that he is.

It’s always very mechanical with Graham and tonight isn’t any different except, for once, there is _emotion_ inside Regina. Wrath and hatred and longing.

She bites him and scratches him and _hurts_ him until she shoos him away in the early hours of the morning so she can go wash the sheets.

 

* * *

 

_ 10.06 a.m. _

Henry enters the kitchen without uttering a word and goes straight for the box of cereal on the counter.

“Good morning, Henry. I made pancakes,” Regina announces, putting the plate on the table.

“I don’t want them,” he replies, his tone unpleasant and disdainful.

She breathes in deep to prevent herself from snapping. “Henry, sit down.”

He does as he’s told but his movements convey that having to be around her for longer than strictly necessary is the last thing he wants to be doing. He puts two pancakes on his plate and it’s with sorrow that Regina considers _this_ to be a victory.

“Henry, why did you go find Em… Miss Swan?”

“She’s my real mom,” he says simply, as if “mom” is a title that can be gained without sleepless nights and endless worry and infinite love. “I want to be with her.”

“She gave birth to you,” Regina argues, already too tired and hurt by this exchange, “I raised you.”

He opens and closes his mouth but seems to change his mind (maybe he was about to share his fairytale theory?) and the only reply she gets is a disinterested shrug.

“Henry, look at me,” Regina orders, closing her hands into a loose fist so he doesn’t notice her trembling fingers. He lifts his head and glares at her. It will have to do for now. “What you did was very dangerous. There are horrible people in the world and they could have taken you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But there are horrible people in Storybrooke too.” He doesn’t say it, but the “there are horrible people right here” rings loud and unrelenting in her ears.

“I need you to promise me that you will never run away like that again,” she begs, unbothered by the despair in her demeanor. This is her son. Her son that she _loves_. “I can’t keep you safe if you leave Storybrooke.”

Henry finishes chewing before he mumbles, “I can’t promise that”, and storms out of the kitchen, leaving Regina alone to gather the ruins of what had once been the perfect picture of domestic bliss.

 

* * *

 

_ 10.51 a.m. _

Regina drives away from Granny’s where she’d left Henry. She had asked him if he wanted to come with her to visit his grandfather’s grave but he’d said no. Usually she’d leave him alone at home; he was good at entertaining himself with videogames or comic books. But Henry had run away all the way to Boston and back mere hours ago and she is not about to risk losing him again. For lack of a better option on such short notice, leaving him under the care of Eugenia Lucas for half an hour will have to do.

She parks outside the cemetery and walks to the crypt where she’s been coming to every Sunday for the past 28 years. She has a single light pink carnation in her hand and she fights the urge to bring it to her nose. It does not do to bask in dead things even if they are still beautiful.

With a firm push she enters the mausoleum, stopping by the door. There’s dust everywhere and spider webs hang from the ceiling. It stinks of mold and stagnation, a stench most fitting to Storybrooke’s reality but not to her father’s legacy. She decides to have the space cleaned and makes a mental note to call Ashley the following day.

Regina kisses the flower and places it on top of the marble grave. “I am sorry, Daddy.”

She is sorry but his sacrifice was worth it.

That doesn’t mean her heart feels any less heavy when she pushes her father’s coffin to have access to the staircase below. There’s a morbid sense of secrecy here, where the curse had placed the final remnants of her magic in Storybrooke, but Regina no longer appreciates it.

She turns the light on and starts going downstairs. Something feels wrong and out of place. The magic feels stronger, almost like how she used to feel it in her chambers back in the Enchanted Forest. She extends her palm and tries to make a fireball appear but nothing happens.

What does happen is that, when she reaches the vault that stores all the hearts she had taken during her reign as the Evil Queen, she can no longer tell what is real and what isn’t. There are several bottles and ingredients on top of the sideboard and she has no recollection of leaving them there. For a moment, she thinks she sees a baby chair floating in the air but it’s gone after she blinks.

The sounds, however, they remain.

There’s a voice far, far away, soothing and patient, as if someone is telling a story. But it’s the baby whirring and gargling that has her spinning around in tumultuous circles.

Why is there a baby? Where is the noise coming from?

As if that wasn’t enough, she thinks she hears Rumpelstiltskin’s voice, arguing with her, making her feel paranoid and irrational.

 _“She’s important, isn’t she? This_ mother _!”_

Regina starts laughing, a manic cackle that echoes through the oppressive walls of the room. It’s shocking it took her so long to go insane when her life has been nothing but mindless repetition of the exact same things for the better part of 28 years. When her life has been nothing but mind-numbing boredom with only Henry to give it color.

She had read somewhere that Hell is repetition and she is inclined to agree.

The other voice is now closer and Regina stands very still, trying to comprehend what it’s saying.

_“… She despaired when she learned that revenge was not enough. She was lonely. And so she searched the land for a little boy to be her prince and then she found him and though they lived happily, it was not ever after. There was still an evil out there lurking and the Queen was worried for her prince's safety.”_

She cannot manage the strength to walk to the nearest wall, she just somehow stumbles into it and presses her back against it. Her heart is hammering in her chest, wild and frantic.

_“While she knew she could vanquish any threat to the boy, she also knew she couldn't raise him worrying. No. She needed to put her own troubles aside and put her child first. And so the Queen procured an ancient potion of forgetting.”_

She is not hallucinating. She is not crazy.

This is a memory. This is a moment she had chosen to forget because loving Henry had been more important.

 _“If the Queen drinks the potion, she won't forget her child, she'll only forget her worries, her troubles._ Her fears _. And with those gone, she and her little prince can finally live happily ever after.”_

Henry’s mother is the Savior.

Emma Swan is Henry’s mother.

And Regina had fallen right into another one of fate’s traps when she’d allowed herself to care for both of them.

 

* * *

 

_ 11.36 a.m. _

Kathryn Nolan hugs Jim Frederickson tight before kissing him, a warm smile gracing her features when they turn away from each other, and Regina feels the familiar pang of regret claw at her chest as she observes them through the window of the diner. Henry is sitting at the counter reading and hadn’t wanted to join her. She had allowed it, just this once, and only because Kathryn is coming and she never knows if their conversation will be something that Henry should hear.

The bell above the door jingles and Kathryn strides in, stopping by Henry to kiss his head, and Regina is jealous of the way her son’s entire face brightens at the sight of her friend.

Henry’s love seems to come open and easy for everyone but her.

“Hello, Regina”, Kathryn greets, sitting across from her. “How are you this morning?”

She hums and sips on her coffee. Strong and black, the way she likes it. The way she _is_. “I have seen better days.”

“I’m glad Henry is safe and sound. I was so worried!” Kathryn frowns, her hand reaching for Regina’s, and Regina believes her. Kathryn is relentlessly, nauseatingly good. “What happened?”

The bell rings again and in comes Emma Swan in a perfect illustration of what had happened. Regina scoffs before she remembers that indifference is her stance of choice for this matter. Kathryn’s eyes widen and she follows Emma’s motions with curiosity.

Storybrooke doesn’t have visitors or tourists, only the delivery men that stay near the town line and nobody ever sees.

“Who is she?” Kathryn asks, suspicion dawning on her face as Emma approaches Henry.

“That,” Regina says, watching Emma ask Henry what he is doing in the diner alone, “is Emma Swan.” Henry signals in her direction without bothering to actually look but Emma does, and their gazes meet. “Henry’s birth mother.”

Her explanation is met with silence and Regina focuses on Kathryn, suppressing a sigh when she notices the blonde gaping at her.

“You mean…” Kathryn shakes her head and Regina is annoyed by the strong sensation of _déjà-vu_ hitting her. “Emma Swan? _The_ Emma Swan?”

“Yes, dear,” she replies with an eye-roll. “There is no other Emma Swan.”

“Regina, I am so sorry,” Kathryn says, empathy coming so naturally to her. It would be endearing if Regina didn’t feel so undeserving of such attentions. “Did you know?”

In hindsight, maybe she should have known, since even one year of lightness and warmth seemed more than she could ask for.

“No,” she huffs, claustrophobic and uncomfortable. “Neither of us did.”

“That is…” Kathryn pauses and her eyes turn to Emma. She is measuring her, trying to uncover what could possibly be so special about the woman. “What are the odds?”

Regina sneers, unimpressed by the question. She hasn’t spent a lot of time calculating the odds of ludicrous situations when her whole life has just been one absurdity after the other. What are the odds of your mother killing the love of your life in front of you? What are the odds of ending up married to your mother’s former fiancé? What are the odds of desperately asking for help and getting the silliest, most naïve and hopelessly romantic fairy in the entire kingdom as a solution? The odds are so slim they barely exist. But, with Regina’s luck, she will probably end up discovering that the Wicked Witch of the West is somehow her long lost sister.

She doesn’t reply. There is no good answer she could give and she’s too exhausted to think of one.

“If you think about it,” Kathryn continues, her expression now gentle and her voice very calming, “it is poetic, in a way.”

Regina clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes. She wants to scream that there is nothing poetic about a darkness so vast that a curse seemed like the only option. There is nothing poetic about abandoning a child. There is nothing poetic about being left like a prostitute in a hotel room.

“Sorry, I know how this may sound,” Kathryn hurriedly adds. “It’s just that… you were so _happy_ , Regina.” Her gaze goes from Emma to Regina and she appears contemplative. “She is lovely. And the way she keeps stealing glances in our direction? She knows she made a mistake.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regina says, and is proud when she manages to keep her voice neutral. “And I wasn’t that happy.”

Kathryn laughs softly and her stare lands on Emma again. She is now walking towards them, her obvious reluctance not enough to prevent her from coming closer.

“Regina, I…” Emma stammers, eyes fleeting and hands deep in her jeans’ pockets.

“You what, Miss Swan?” Regina has no patience for this newfound stuttering. “I don’t have all day. Neither do you, if I understood our agreement of last night correctly?” She flashes her politician smile, one Emma had never seen – cold and cynical and calculating. “I expected you to be gone by now. Boston is a long drive still.”

“Uh, yes.” Emma nods and extends her hand to Kathryn, who takes it without hesitation. “Hi, I’m Emma. You must b–” She stops, and swallows. Regina smirks. Emma does well in remembering she has no part in Regina’s life anymore.

“I’m Kathryn, pleased to meet you.”

Emma smiles, and then redirects her attention back to Regina. “I am leaving soon and uh, since you’re here, I thought I’d say goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Miss Swan.”

Regina finds it curious that Emma looks somewhere between wounded and resigned, and offers a curt nod before turning to the coffee in front of her.

“Yeah.” She makes an awkward wave with her hand and Regina senses Emma’s gaze lingering on her for a few more moments. “Nice to meet you, Kathryn.”

It infuriates Regina that Emma has the nerve to go talk to Henry again and it hurts her that he looks so heated and disappointed that she is leaving. Emma Swan has no right to even be a target of her son’s expectations.

“You know,” Kathryn prods, kindness seeping through her tone. She is still studying her and Emma, and now Henry too. _This_ is Kathryn’s way of causing trouble and Regina has come to fear it. “I think that when your life is so entwined with someone else’s that you can’t help but be connected, it has to mean something.”

In another time, Regina would have laughed. Now, all she can think about is that it does mean something, but it’s not beautiful or poetic – it’s terrifying.

Keeping the curse alive will cost her everything for Henry is her weakness and Emma is her undoing.

Breaking the curse, however, would cost her even more and she is not willing to pay that price.

 

* * *

 

_ 1.22 p.m. _

Regina is having a hard time concentrating on the paperwork she had brought home to finish over the weekend. She had slept very little, her slumber filled with visions and memories disguised as dreams.

She still hasn’t processed that Henry, _her son_ , is so unhappy that he had run off to find his birth mother. She doesn’t know why this change in their relationship has happened. One day they were fine and they loved each other and they were content in their lives; the next day Henry grew distant without explanation. She had thought puberty had somehow caught up with him earlier than expected (her little prince had always been precocious), but then Henry had gone from distant to despondent and spiteful.

Regina might be the Evil Queen but she had never given Henry anything less than her very best.

Emma’s mention of fairytales has both scared and intrigued her. She is confident Emma will leave Storybrooke – Emma is nothing if not good at leaving – but she will have to investigate where her son’s sudden fascination with fairytales had come from. And why he is so sure she, of all the people in town, is the one who deserves the role of villain.

Regina doesn’t understand where she has gone wrong.

She stands up and follows the scent of the roast, checking it before she turns off the oven and sets the table on the kitchen island.

“Henry,” Regina calls. There is no answer. “Henry, lunch is ready!” she calls again.

A surge of panic bursts through her chest and she rushes from one room to another, always shouting his name.

Henry is not home.

Regina feels tears prickling in her eyes but she ignores them and takes a deep breath before she grabs her phone and dials a number she hasn’t used in years.

The sound of rustling clothes and muffled songs comes forth before the voice, _“Swan.”_

“Where is Henry?”

 

* * *

 

_ 2.13 p.m. _

“Took you long enough,” Regina says as Emma brushes past her and into the manor.

“Excuse me if I was busy getting away from you as per your instructions, your Majesty,” Emma snarks, turning around to face her. “Where’s his room?”

Regina winces, the title sounding foreign and vicious from Emma’s lips. “Upstairs, first door on the right.”

She follows Emma to Henry’s room where Graham is already sitting in front of Henry’s computer with a quizzical expression.

“Move over,” Emma orders, not even bothering to introduce herself. He does as he’s told without questioning. Regina has to wonder if she trained him way too well to be so responsive to authoritative women.

“Why would you find anything on his computer?” Graham asks, and Regina hides her face behind her palm with embarrassment.

Emma snickers, “Where are you from, the 18th century? Kids have their entire lives on their computers these days.”

“I’m a bit more old-fashioned with my techniques – pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing.”

“Please,” Emma huffs, with a dismissive wave, “like I would ever find anybody if all I did was that.”

“Why on Earth would you need to find anybody, Miss Swan?” Regina questions, with a heavy sigh. She’s standing behind the two of them, and even though she is grateful that Emma’s presence makes her feel more confident they will find Henry soon, and that he will be fine, she is still disturbed by all the events from the past 24 hours.

“Took on bounty hunting after my time in –, uh, after I had Henry,” Emma replies, clicking through Henry’s recovered internet history. “You get paid for delivery so you need to do a little better than talking to wary folks.”

Graham has the good sense of looking ashamed but Regina can’t fault him for being traditional in his methods. She had taken the time to learn as much as she could about this new and modern world, but Graham hadn’t had the blessing of self-awareness about his current condition.

“Okay, I think I’m onto something,” Emma announces, the screen now displaying images of happy families. “This website helps people find their birth mothers.” She clicks a few buttons and scrolls down, “Oh wow, it’s expensive. Does he have a credit card?”

“He’s ten,” Regina deadpans, crossing her arms.

“Well, he used one,” Emma explains with a self-satisfied tilt of her head as she opens a window full of numbers and bank details. “Mary Margaret Blanchard. Who is Mary Margaret Blanchard?”

Regina feels instantly tense and furious at the mention of that name. Of course even a mellowed out, bland and tedious version of Snow White would still find a way to meddle in her affairs and make her life miserable. “Henry’s teacher,” she hisses.

“Well, guess we have our next clue,” Emma says, getting up and closing the laptop lid. “Where does this woman live?”

*

Regina pounds on the door of Mary Margaret Blanchard’s apartment with more force than required, all the frustration of the day concentrated in her open palm. Graham had stayed in the car and Emma is right behind her, a frown on her face, and she seems to barely be hiding the desire to say something while knowing it’s better not to.

Mary Margaret opens the door in a sudden movement and Regina recoils before she advances, eying the other woman as if she were prey.

“Miss Mills,” Mary Margaret says, shy and fearful as she always is around her, “what are you doing here?”

“Where’s my son?”

“I thought…” Mary Margaret retreats into her apartment, intimidated. “Shouldn’t he be home with you?”

“Do you think I would be here if he was?”

Mary Margaret fidgets, her gaze going from her to Emma and finally settling on Emma despite her silence and discomfort.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to give Storybrooke a few tourists to avoid everyone now staring at Emma like she is the next best thing since sliced bread.

“Did you give him your credit card so he could find her?” Regina queries, her tone accusatory. She signals Emma with a short nod and hears the blonde shift nervously behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Margaret says, still not certain whether to focus on Regina or Emma. “Who are you?”

“I’m…” Emma mumbles, ungraceful as ever. “I’m his…”

“The woman who gave him up for adoption,” Regina interrupts, aggravated by the idiocy surrounding her. Did she, of all people, have to be the one introducing Emma to her mother?

The universe must hate her, there is no other explanation.

Emma shuts up and Regina imagines she must look stoic and unyielding, even if her eyes are hiding storms within. Mary Margaret sighs and invites them inside. She clearly doesn’t want to have a part in this drama but Henry had wanted her to have a role and so now Regina is trapped in a stingy apartment with two women she would much rather pretend didn’t exist.

Mary Margaret’s purse is on top of the dining table and Regina scrunches her nose at how unhygienic she finds the scene. Emma approaches and stands beside her, both watching the other woman looking for her wallet.

“You don’t know anything about this, do you?” Emma asks, her voice so much softer than Regina would like it to be.

She rolls her eyes and fights the urge to start tapping with the tip of her shoe. This is not what she had planned for her weekend.

“No, unfortunately not,” Mary Margaret answers, her open wallet dangling from her hands. “Clever boy. I should never have given him that book.”

Except Mary Margaret doesn’t look sorry in any way. In fact, she looks smug and pleased with herself. As if giving her son some worthless book changes anything.

“What in the hell is this book I keep hearing about?” Regina barks, so irritated she is certain her magic would have exploded something by now if this was another time, another place. Emma flinches, taking a step away from her, and Regina simply cannot deal with this.

“It’s just some old stories I gave him,” Mary Margaret clarifies, with the deceitfully soothing tone that Regina has only grown to hate more and more. “As you well know,” she continues, still gentle, “Henry is a special boy. So smart, so creative…” She pauses and stares at Regina straight in the eyes. “And as you might be aware, _lonely_. He needed it.”

Regina wonders if this fresh bout of assertiveness in the usually submissive and shrunken teacher is a consequence of Emma’s presence. Just the thought of it makes her want to throw them both outside the window with a hint of flair and a large measure of unbearable pain.

“What he needs is a dose of reality,” she growls, turning towards the door. “This is a waste of time.”

When Emma doesn’t follow her out, Regina realizes she can’t even care. Not when her son is still missing and nothing makes sense without him.

 

* * *

 

5.27 p.m.

The house is too big for just one person, Regina muses, for the millionth time since 1983. She is pacing in her office, a glass of cider in one hand, her cell phone in the other. She should have thought it through when she had cast the curse. A little box on the hillside would have been enough for her and then for her and Henry. Instead she has two floors of opulent rooms that remind her way too much of a castle in her bad days.

And today is most definitely a horrible, _horrible_ day.

She looks at Emma’s message again, _“I’ve found Henry, he’s fine. Go home. I’ll meet you there.”_

That had been about forty minutes ago, and after almost two hours of an agonizing search through Storybrooke’s hidden little corners. It is unfortunate that her son doesn’t share her preference when it comes to the town’s hiding spots.

The doorbell rings and Regina runs to the foyer, leaving everything behind without a second thought. When she opens the door, Henry rushes inside without so much as a glance directed at her. She pauses, uncertain if she is hurt or surprised, and then turns around to see him walking upstairs with heavy footsteps. She considers calling his name, scolding him, even just plainly shouting at him, but gives up with a short breath, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

This will not do. She cannot afford to show vulnerability in front of Emma Swan.

Except that when she turns, Emma is looking at her in her not-so-familiar red leather jacket, eyes brimming with tears and that sheepish expression Regina wants to despise but _can’t_. She takes a few steps forward and feels relieved that Emma hadn’t climbed the step leading to her front door. The distance is comforting.

“Thank you,” she says, with a small smile, and hides her quivering hands inside her blazer’s pockets. “He seems to have taken quite a shine to you.”

Emma chuckles, and hits her leg with her arm softly once, twice, as if she’s trying to decide whether to speak or not. “You know, it’s kinda crazy,” she lets out, and her beam is so hopeful, so pure, it makes Regina ache with rage. “Yesterday was my birthday.”

Regina had forgotten that but it doesn’t surprise her. Everything seems to be falling into place – of course Storybrooke’s birthday would correspond to Emma Swan’s birthday.

“When I blew out the candle on this cupcake I bought myself,” Emma carries on, in her typical self-deprecating manner, making the gestures for her story, “I actually made a wish that I didn’t have to be alone on my birthday.”

Regina grits her teeth, her eyes flashing dangerously. She knows enough about Emma Swan, she has suffered enough _because_ of Emma Swan, to be sure that if she was spending her birthday alone then she had brought it upon herself.

But Emma, the insufferable idiot, still hasn’t caught up with that life lesson. “And then Henry showed up…” Her voice is trembling, and she makes that smile Regina hates, full of lightness and warmth. “And he brought me to you.”

Regina bristles and she has never in 28 years wished so hard for magic to exist in this goddamned forsaken town. With magic, she could turn Emma into dust and never look back. “I hope there’s no misunderstanding here,” she manages to declare.

“What?” Emma startles, her mouth opening and closing in hesitation.

“Don’t mistake all this as an invitation back into his life. Don’t mistake any of this as an invitation back into _my_ life.”

“Oh,” Emma gasps and clasps her hands together.

“Miss Swan, you made a decision ten years ago and in the last decade, while you’ve been doing whatever it is you do, I’ve changed every diaper, soothed every fever, endured every tantrum,” she says, and she’s so angry she doesn’t even take pleasure from the way Emma cringes. “You may have given birth to him, but he is _my_ son.”

“I would never…”

“No,” Regina practically shouts. “ _You_ don’t get to speak. You don’t get to do _anything_.” She steps down and stops herself just short of entering Emma’s personal space. She wants to be menacing, but she doesn’t want to be _close_. “You gave up that right when you tossed us away.”

She watches as Emma gulps guiltily, her shoulders slouching as if she’s protecting herself from an invisible blow. There is no reasonable way for the blonde to justify herself and they both know it. There is no excuse in the world for what she had done to the two of them. “I suggest that you get in your car and you leave this town, because if you don’t… I will destroy you if it’s the last thing I do.”

 “I’ll go,” Emma yields. She looks small and abashed, a shadow of her usual self. “Thank you for taking such good care of Henry. He’s smart and has a good heart. I could… I couldn’t hope for a better mom for, uh, for the kid.”

“Goodbye, Miss Swan,” Regina replies, and she just wants this to be the last time she is saying these words. She has said them enough to last a lifetime. She starts walking to the door for she has no desire to hear anything else Emma might have to say. Emma Swan holds the power to destroy her life’s work and she’d already done enough damage – she needs to be gone. Forever.

“Regina,” Emma pleads, and Regina turns around against her better judgment. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I fucked up.”

Apologies don’t make children understand abandonment and grown women understand unwarranted rejection, so Regina just goes inside her house and shuts the door.

There really is nothing she could say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from If the World Ends, by Guillemots.


	3. what a wicked game to play, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated episode 1 to add in a line that makes it 100% clear, but in case you didn't catch that the first time around... Emma was adopted by a family with a Jewish-American dad and a Japanese mom.
> 
> Many thanks to PhoenixTat for the beta and to Mari for the lil nudges in the right direction.

**_October 2011_ **

Emma blows on her gloved hands and then sits on them. Her eyes follow a woman jogging on the other side of the park until she disappears from view and Emma sighs, wondering why she couldn’t have decided to be normal for once and checked in at a hotel instead of spending the night wandering around London.

She knows the city well as she’d lived here for a few months a couple of years back. The only reason she’s sitting by herself on a bench in St. James’ Park, at 6 in the morning, is because in London it’s very easy to feel lonely, but very rare to feel alone.

Emma prefers it in the summer, when sunrise is before 5am and she can walk around by herself and enjoy how beautiful the city is without the burden of thousands of tourists and commuters everywhere. Right now it’s still dark and cold and it’ll remain that way until a little before 8. Being alone is the only blessing of this scenario and for the moment that is more of a double-edged gift than it is a blessing.

At least it’s not raining, she thinks, as she gets up and starts moving towards Trafalgar Square. Maybe she’ll get to see the sunrise beyond the clouds before she meets with Jane.

*

Emma leans on the bus stop pole in front of King’s College and focuses her attention on the university entrance. Jack had told her that Jane has classes this morning and her jobs as a bail bonds person had taught her patience. Telling Jane that she was coming might’ve been the smarter option, but surprises are always more fun.

Or it could be that she hasn’t really slept ever since she’d left Storybrooke to pace from one corner to the other of her apartment in Boston until she’d finally run out to hop on a plane to London.

Rational decision-making is _not_ Emma’s forte.

It says a lot about her mental and emotional state that she spots a Ravenclaw hoodie before she notices it’s Jane, and that her eyes fill with tears anyway.

*

 _“Emma Cohen Swan,”_ Jane snarls, hands gripping the table with progressively whitening knuckles. “I am so mad at you right now that if I were one of those gun-apologist Republicans, I’d be shooting you in the eye. Repeatedly!”

Emma holds her mug of hot chocolate against her chest, trying to somehow shield herself from Jane’s anger. She’s almost embarrassed that she’s pouting, but this is her sister in front of her and all’s fair in love and war.

Jane had been a mix of delighted and horrified when she’d spotted her because seeing Emma unexpectedly doesn’t tend to be the best of signs. It hadn’t worked out as well as Emma had hoped. While she might be the troublemaker in the family, Jane only does her own thing, and thus Emma had had to sit through two hours of a white bald man slurring incoherent gibberish about Toni Morrison’s _Sula_ in a strong British accent.

“What would he know about the lives of black women in America anyway?” Emma had groaned, struggling to stay awake for the first time in two days.

“Shhh,” Jane had urged, pen scribbling away in her torn notebook. “You have to know the system to fight the system.”

That was Jane’s style of going through life. Emma had never met anyone who believed with such unwavering faith in the “knowledge is power” motto.

It certainly helps explain why Jane is so furious at the dose of unexpected and undesired information she’d just thrust upon her. Emma is kind of glad they’re alone in the basement of Jane’s favorite Nero coffee shop.

“I can’t believe this shit,” Jane huffs, and Emma knows it’s serious because Jane rarely swears. “You come all the way from the States to land this on me and you _expect me to have the solutions for you?!_ ”

“I, uh… I didn’t know who else to talk to?” Emma grimaces. Jack is aware Henry exists, but he’s not so up to date about the Regina situation – and he’s not the heartwarming type either. “I can’t exactly trust Jack to give reasonable advice on this issue. And I mean, Josh would die three times before I even finished talking.”

“Well, Swan, this?” Jane grunts, her hands pointing at herself. “This is me dying. What in the name of all that’s good and decent got into your head for you to abandon a baby? After everything _we_ went through?”

“He was adopted three weeks after he was born,” Emma mumbles, fingers tapping unrhythmically on the glass of her mug. “I made sure he would be safe.”

“I just can’t with you, Emma,” Jane says, angry and defeated and so so disappointed. “You have all these issues and problems you pile upon yourself and you keep forgetting about everything that is _good_. About all the good _you_ could do. Even worse, you have a very annoying knack for forgetting about the rather long list of wonderful things you actually _have_ done.”

“I was never meant to be a Cohen. I wasn’t supposed to come back.” Emma places the mug on the table and smiles at her sister feebly. The years when she’d been on the run had scarred them both and regaining Jane’s trust had been a long fought battle. “I truly believed I’d never see any of you again. I thought nobody wanted me.” She shrugs, her hair wild of days untamed framing her face. She doesn’t feel guilty. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, the way she used to think back then, for now she knows it isn’t true. It’s never been true. “A teenager in prison is not fit to become a parent.”

“No,” Jane concedes, “they aren’t.”

“I think I regret not raising Henry,” she admits, eyes glistening with tears, “but it was the best I could do back then.”

“And it apparently got him Regina, so here’s to hoping she’s a little less hectic than you, eh, big sis?”

Emma laughs, “Yeah, about that…”

“Look, you realize this is happening again, right?” Jane interrupts, somewhat impatiently but not _quite_. “You come to me, telling me about these great life events and these grand decisions you have to make and you know me well enough to know what I’m going to tell you.”

“Do I? ‘Cause this sure as hell isn’t your regular everyday situation.”

“Come on, Swan, humor me,” Jane taunts, a smirk playing on her lips. “What do you think I’m going to tell you? Nuh uh,” she says, with her pointer finger waving in front of Emma’s face, “not what you _want_ me to say. What you _think_ I’ll say.”

“You’ll tell me to get my ass on a plane back to Boston and go find Regina and Henry again,” Emma mutters under her breath, crossing her arms like a spoiled child forced to do something against her will.

“See?” Jane says, with a deep chuckle. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Are you forgetting the part where she specifically told me that I wasn’t welcome in her life or in Henry’s life? She said – and I’m quoting here –, that she’d destroy me if I didn’t leave Storybrooke!”

“That’s harsh, but understandable,” Jane argues, resting her face on her fist. “You did do a number on her. I mean, you had this awesome year filled with sexual healing or whatever and then, completely out of nowhere, you just upped and went away. No warning, no arguments, no bitter feelings… Just a scared little Emma running off with her tail between her legs because things were a little too perfect.” She laughs as Emma punches her arm. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

“I know, I know,” Emma grumbles. “I made a mistake. Another one.”

“As long as you learn from them, it’s fine with me.”

“What about your feminist theories that women’s boundaries should be respected and stuff of the sort?”

“I am vaguely offended by the way you phrased that,” Jane warns before she sighs, “but I stand by it. I am not telling you to go knock on Regina’s door every day and stalk her into submission like that pirate from… what’s that show you used to watch when you got home drunk?”

“ _Good Form._ ” Emma rolls her eyes and leans forward, playing with the cream on top of her drink. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Emma, you made one mistake with those two people,” Jane says, like it’s as clear as water and not the muddled swamp it is for her, “and I don’t know, maybe the universe is rooting for you, but those two people were brought together and you are a part of their history just as much as they are of yours. It’s a mind-blowing coincidence, but here we are.”

“One mistake?”

Jane exhales with frustration and Emma grins. There’s little she enjoys more than exasperating her sister. “Yes. You abandoned them. In different circumstances, for different reasons, but that’s the heart of it, isn’t it?”

Emma can’t help the defensive stance her body adopts as soon as Jane finishes her argument. In her mind, there are explanations and rationalizations and sometimes it doesn’t seem so bad, even if most times she just tries really hard to forget the person she had been. Hearing someone else put it into words though? That hurts.

“Don’t look at me like that, Swan, I’m not the one who screwed up,” Jane says, with a little bite but also a lot of love. “I can’t guarantee a happy family waiting for you in Storybrooke because I don’t know Regina. For all I know, she might have moved on already and maybe you’re just a bittersweet memory like the ones people have of summer flings.”

“I have no idea. She didn’t leave me a lot of space for catching up.”

“The point is, if you want to make things right, you need to own up to your responsibilities, Emma. Think of this from Regina’s perspective… not only did you leave her on a whim, you abandoned a _child_.” Jane stands up and sits down next to Emma on the banquette. She plays with Emma’s hair for a moment before gently putting it behind her ears, her eyes never leaving Emma’s. “If you dragged yourself around Boston for a year looking for Regina, if _this_ is what you really, really want… It’s time to do something about it.”

“I’m not… I don’t…” Emma sighs, and lets her head fall to her sister’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“It’s okay, it’s not easy,” Jane says, her hand drawing patterns on Emma’s forearm. “And now is also not the time to think about that because I’ve seen zombies prettier than you.”

“What?” Emma scoffs, her head bumping into Jane’s clumsily. “You did not!”

Jane slaps her sister’s forehead and laughs. “Let’s get you some sleep, Swan.”

 

* * *

 

**_November 2011_ **

Emma arrives in Storybrooke at precisely 8.15pm and parks the car in front of Granny’s. Her heartbeat is erratic and it scares her a little, how she can hear it as well as feel it. Her eyes wander off to the general direction of Henry and Regina’s home, but she knows better than to drive there tonight. She knows better than to force any type of contact before they’re the ones coming for her.

With a sigh, Emma taps her foot to the sound of _We Found Love_ and lets the song finish before turning off the bug and getting out. She walks inside the diner and is surprised to find it almost empty, though Sunday evenings don’t have a habit of being big on social gatherings. Maybe this way the news will take longer to get to Regina. Emma still can’t imagine how this second encounter could go anything other than terribly, _horribly_ wrong.

“How can I help?” asks the old lady Emma assumes the diner is named after. She’s eyeing her suspiciously, the same way receptionists at fancy hotels tend to do, and Emma is tired of always giving the wrong impression.

“Can I get a cheeseburger and a coke, please?” she orders, sitting on the stool. She just wants to eat and hide in her room, whatever room that might be.

Her food doesn’t take long and Emma eats even faster, not bothering to wait for the change to her twenty dollar bill after she’s done. It might just be in her head, but she feels oppressed and undesired, like the entire town is in tune with Regina’s opinion of her presence. She kicks a few stones on the sidewalk and then remembers she doesn’t know Storybrooke all that well and she needs to see where she’s going, even if the Bed & Breakfast is quite close to the diner.

The tower clock strikes 9 and Emma does a double-take. If someone had got the clock fixed since the last time she’d been here, it certainly puts a damper on Henry’s “frozen time” theories.

There’s a huge spider coming down the wall of the B&B’s front porch and Emma scrunches her nose. Luxury isn’t a necessity in her book, but an environment devoid of creepy animals kind of is. She pushes the door and rolls her eyes at the rusty sound of the hinges. Why does every building in Storybrooke look like it hasn’t been touched for 30 years?

“Good evening,” says the girl at the reception.

She’s hot, Emma thinks, with the red streaks on her hair and those lascivious eyes that shamelessly study her from head to toes. She also seems familiar, but the only person that had been at the B&B the first time around had been the old lady from the diner.

“Wait, aren’t you the girl from the diner?” Emma remembers, a grin forming on her lips. Yes. Yes, she is. Emma is not in the business of forgetting pretty faces.

The girl scoffs at that, chewing her pink gum like she hasn’t got a fuck in the world to give. “Ruby Lucas at your service, ma’am.”

Emma laughs, feeling relaxed for the first time in hours. Ruby talks like she chews gum, loud and unapologetic, and Emma appreciates that.

“I’d like a room, please.”

“What’s the name again?”

“Swan. Emma Swan.” Emma raises an eyebrow when she notices Ruby’s uneasy expression and startles as she hears another voice behind her.

“Emma,” a male voice says, dripping with honey. “What a lovely name.”

“Uh, thank you?” Emma lets out, not comfortable with the tension settling in the room.

Ruby extends a roll of notes with a defiant look on her face and the man leaves, wishing Emma an enjoyable stay. She really could do without all the weirdoes popping out left and right. It’s a wonder Regina and Henry hadn’t fallen victims to a random mass murderer yet.

“Who’s that?” she asks, a tinge of belligerence in her tone.

“That’s Mr. Gold,” Ruby says, baring her teeth. “He owns this place.”

“Hum,” Emma offers noncommittally, taking the set of keys from Ruby’s hand with a smile. She’ll have to cross paths with the man again in such a small town, but for now all she wants is to lie down and forget he exists. “See you tomorrow.”

*

Emma wakes up to a persistent knock on her door and it takes her a few moments to understand what’s happening before she jumps out of bed and opens the door with a swift motion.

She expected Ruby or the old lady on the other side, complaining about late hours or asking about breakfast. She did not, however, expect to see Regina with a basket full of red apples. Regina also definitely did not expect Emma to open the door half-naked.

They both flush and Regina starts babbling about apples and how they're so resilient or whatever but they're both blushing and Regina looks way too cute with that rosy tone on her cheeks and the last time Emma had been in front of Regina with just a tank top and boyshorts, some kinky things had happened and thinking about that is _not_ helping and Emma just opens and closes her mouth like an idiot while Regina stands there in an endless monologue. All of this is incredibly awkward but also so incredibly _them_ and Emma's heart aches inside her chest.

“Regina,” Emma finally interrupts and notices Regina’s subtle sigh – there’s only so much a person can say about the damn apples. “I know I said I would leave, and I technically did.”

“What are you doing here?”

Emma blushes again and stares at her bare feet, curling her toes against the wooden floor. “Look, Regina, I know you probably didn’t want to see me again –“

“Your assumption would be correct.”

“But what I did to you two years ago was horrible and I’m really ashamed of it. I could say I don’t know what I was thinking but the sad truth is I do know what got into my stupid head and I am very sorry.” Emma looks up and her expression is open and earnest. She doesn’t want to screw this up, not again.

“Your apologies mean nothing to me,” Regina spits out, and she brushes past Emma to leave the basket on the armchair. “I want you out of my town.”

“I know, I know,” Emma says, holding her arms up in surrender. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I don’t _deserve_ your forgiveness. But I want to make it up to you.”

“And you expect to do this how?” Regina argues, taking one step forward with fire in her eyes. Emma is a little bit afraid of this mayoral version of the woman. “Because there is nothing I want or need from you.”

“You’re not gonna like hearing this, but…” Emma takes a deep breath and locks eyes with Regina, feeling shy but so very sure. “Henry. I want to help you with Henry.”

“Why the hell would I need your help with Henry?” Regina barks, and Emma flinches.

“Look, the kid read some fairytales book and now he’s convinced you’re an Evil Queen who cursed a bunch of fairy tale characters into this town and that I’m some sort of Savior who’s gonna break the curse.” Emma pauses when she sees the flicker of hurt in Regina’s dark eyes. “You are his mother and I don’t intend to replace you in any way, but I am good with kids,” she reminds her, gently, “and Henry, for some absurd reason that makes no sense, looks up to me as if I’m his own personal hero.”

Regina crosses her arms and looks around the room. Emma’s first thought is, unsurprisingly, that this would be the worst room they’d ever had sex in, but she pushes it away.

“I don’t know how long this, uh – this fixation of his is going to last, but I figure it won’t hurt you to have me on your side, easing you back into the kid’s good graces.”

Regina just stares at her silently, and Emma has no idea if she finds this plan acceptable or if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

“We don’t have to see each other at all,” Emma adds, convinced that that may somehow be a persuasive argument. “I will stay out of your way. I’ll even go out of my way to stay out of your way. I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“That might be a problem when your mere existence is very inconvenient, Miss Swan,” Regina snarks, raising one of those sexy eyebrows that Emma absolutely did not miss.

“Yeah, well… It seems like a pretty good arrangement to me.” Emma shrugs and searches through her luggage to find a pair of sweatpants. “You don’t have to see me or even hear from me, but if I stick around for a while, Henry will seek me out. And when he does, I’ll be right there showing him your side of the story.”

Regina walks to the door and stops there for a while, her hand resting on the doorframe. Her back is turned to Emma and it’s obvious she’s considering the proposition.

“I know how to deal with my son,” Regina declares after a long silence, her tone harsh and her posture tense.

Emma smiles as she watches her go. That hadn’t exactly been a “no”.

*

The cup of cocoa in her hand feels like a burn. Emma can’t believe she’s barely back in town and the Sheriff is already flirting with her. Regina had just seen her half-naked and now this? How did he even guess she likes cinnamon on top of the cream?

“I didn’t send it,” he says, with a confused look on his face. He’s kinda cute and has some puppy expressions going for him, despite trying very hard to seem tougher than he is. Too bad this is Regina’s town so everyone is pretty much off limits.

“I did,” a high-pitched voice says from another one of the diner’s booths.

“Henry,” Emma breathes, stunned. Had her return been announced in the local news? Mother and son sure hadn’t wasted time in coming after her. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Duh, I’m ten,” the smartass replies, passing her on his way out. “Walk me!”

She leaves the cocoa in front of the Sheriff – what was his name? Graham? – and runs after the kid, coming to a halt when she reaches his side. “So…” she starts, aiming for inconspicuous but failing. Or she would have failed if she’d been talking to anyone other than a ten year-old. “What’s the deal with you and your mom?”

*

Emma has only been in Storybrooke for two weeks and she’s already spending half of her time between a terrifying mix of boredom and flight instincts kicking in.

The town is small and there’s not that much going on. Or there’s a lot going on, for a small town. Emma is honestly confused at this point. She hasn’t seen Regina since their awkward, half-naked and apple-filled conversation, but she feels her presence everywhere. Her car has been either booted or towed almost every day. There’s also been a rather unflattering piece about her lack of roots in the local newspaper, but Emma had only snorted and kept the page to show it to Jane at a later opportunity. Considering all her life’s screw-ups, the newspaper had managed to go pretty mild on her.

Of course, the cherry on top hadn’t been that, but the time when she’d driven against a traffic sign to avoid hitting a fucking wolf and Graham, the Mayor’s whipped puppy, had arrested her for drunk driving, which in turn had caused the old lady Eugenia to tell her they have a strict no felons policy at the B&B.

That is why Emma is now sitting in her car, browsing _The Storybrooke Mirror_ for a place to rent. Guess Regina hadn’t said “no” to her offer but she isn’t keen on making her life easier either.

“Good morning, Emma,” a sweet voice says next to the window.

“Jesus,” Emma startles and looks up to see Mary Margaret holding a book to her chest, “you scared me. Hi.”

“Sorry about that,” Mary Margaret says, sheepish as usual. Her gaze fleets to the backseat and then back to Emma. “Are you living in your car?”

“Ah, well,” Emma starts, wrinkling her nose with a self-deprecating shrug. “I got kicked out of the B&B this morning and haven’t found a place yet.” She opens the door and gets out of the bug. She’s hungry so she might as well go find somewhere to have breakfast.

“You know, if things get cramped… I do have a spare room.”

Emma gapes at the woman for half a second. They’ve been talking a lot and she genuinely likes her. It freaks her out a little that Henry had cast Mary Margaret as Snow White – the woman who is supposed to be her biological mother –, but she is kind and supportive and they understand each other pretty well considering it hasn’t even been a month since they met for the first time.

“Thanks, I…” Emma hesitates. She’s not used to having roommates, she’s always been more of a loner except for the time she’d lived with Jane. “Yeah, why not?” she ends up saying. She doesn’t have a lot of options and sleeping in her car is not an attractive one. “When can I move in?”

*

Figures she would have given birth to a stubborn and strong-willed kid, Emma muses, as she sees him hop on to the school bus. She sighs and nods her head in disbelief. He’d been yapping for ten minutes about Prince Charming being in a coma for God knows how long and how they should get Mary Margaret to read the fairy tales book to him so he can wake up.

Emma is starting to hate that book.

She hears a siren wailing and turns around, trying to determine where it is coming from. With her luck, she might end up spending the night in jail. She can’t complain, jail still is a step up from her bug’s backseat even if the mattress at Mary Margaret’s had seemed very comfy.

The Cruiser she’s seen the Sheriff driving stops right beside her and Graham jumps out as if she is the one he’s been looking for, causing her to roll her eyes. She’s paid enough fines to cover the budget of Storybrooke’s police department for at least three months.

“What’s with the siren?” she asks, with a cocked eyebrow.

“It’s so hard to get your attention,” he whines, but he’s smiling and already walking over to join her on the sidewalk.

“Well, you got it. Are you arresting me again?” Emma crosses her arms and grins. She likes Graham, he’s easy-going and fun. They have a good banter going on.

“Actually, quite the opposite,” he says, shifting back and forth on his feet in a motion that Emma can’t tell if it’s flirty or anxious. “I want to offer you a job.”

Emma’s eyes widen. What is this? Throw-the-orphan-a-bone day? First Mary Margaret had rented her a room, now Graham wants to hire her?

“Huh, Sheriff, I kind of have a job already.”

“But if you’re staying around, aren’t you gonna lose it?”

She figures now would be as good a time as any to let the townsfolk know about her family fortune, but she really doesn’t need that added complication to a situation that is far from ideal in itself. “I… guess?”

“You’ve got skills I don’t and we work well together. I could use a new deputy,” he says, his forehead creasing as he talks with the sun shining straight on his face.

“What about Regina?” Emma asks, thinking how getting an apartment _and_ a job is not bound to go well when the woman has made clear she wants her out of here, probably sooner rather than later.

“It’s my department,” he says, with an assertiveness Emma doesn’t associate with him, and extends her a card. “Think about it and give me a call.”

Emma grabs the card and responds to his goodbye wave without much conviction, her eyes fixed on the phone number and the sheriff star logo next to it.

Working for the police is pretty much the only thing she could do in Storybrooke that wouldn’t bore her to tears. She stands in the middle of the street for a few moments, not quite believing what just happened. This town is proving to be getting weirder by the second if any random citizen can become a police officer without training.

 

* * *

 

**_December  2011_ **

When Emma arrives to her apartment, folders falling out of her over packed arms, the aroma of food hits her nostrils and makes her feel a bit better about the awful day she’s just had. Why on earth she had decided to become Graham’s deputy is a reality she can’t quite understand, it goes against her most basic thought processes. And, because the universe is out to punish her, it had given Regina an excuse to keep track of her at all times and burden her with ridiculously miniscule tasks of bureaucratic inclinations.

“You need to know the law, Miss Swan,” she had said that morning, drawling her words as if they were beneath her, and Emma is certain she saw the woman’s teeth sparkle like they do in cartoons when villains are getting their way. “How else would you be able to do your job properly?”

Fuck the law, Emma thinks, kicking one of the fallen folders out of her way before dropping the rest on the couch. Fuck the law and fuck Regina and fuck all the binders filled with Storybrooke’s regulations.

“Are you okay, Emma?” Mary Margaret asks, stepping out from behind the kitchen island with the cutest flowery apron covering her clothes.

“Fine,” Emma sneers, taking her shoes off and throwing them at the door. “Just Regina doing my head in. _As usual._ ” She groans and moves to kiss Mary Margaret on the cheek, a motion neither of them is expecting. “Erm, uh, sorry about that. Sister feelings and all.”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret says, a faint blush on her cheekbones. “You’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah, let’s forget my day existed.” It smells like something simple, vegetable rice, fried fish, but Emma will take it as if it were a gift from the heavens. “What have you been up to?”

“Could you set the table, please?” Mary Margaret hands her the plates and the cutlery and busies herself with cooking again, her voice louder to make herself heard. “I was volunteering at the hospital during the afternoon.”

“Did you go read to David again?”

“I did for a while, but then his wife came by.”

“His wife?” Emma’s head pops in from the living room. “The coma guy has a wife?”

“Yes, and I think you know her? Kathryn Nolan?” At Emma’s frown, Mary Margaret adds, “Regina’s friend.”

“Are you serious?” Emma shakes her head, the thoughts all jumbled up inside. “Henry never mentioned this. Isn’t Kathryn with that other guy, uh…”

“Jim. She’s been dating him for a while now, Regina introduced them.”

“Can’t blame a girl for moving on with her life if her husband’s been in a coma for that long.”

“Yes.” Mary Margaret sighs, and the echo of it is dreamy and melancholic to Emma’s well-trained ears. “She doesn’t go to the hospital every day, but she visits sometimes, never stays longer than five minutes. She always sings him a lullaby, kisses his forehead and leaves.”

“Creepy of you to notice that,” Emma remarks, taking the glasses to the table. “Is David as beautifully asleep as ever?”

“Still no reaction.” This sounds somehow surprising to Mary Margaret and she sighs again, her hand moving to caress her necklace. “I don’t think Henry’s idea is working.”

Emma hums and makes an effort to keep her expression neutral. Mary Margaret stares out the window every morning as if she wished she talked to birds and she always closes her eyes before blowing out a candle. “Maybe you should be reading him Henry’s fairy tales instead of _The Notebook_.”

*         

“Emma!” Henry is a pocket-sized ball of excitement when he greets her, almost making her lose her balance. “Mom said you were coming. What are you doing here?”

Regina looks at them from inside the manor and signals at Emma before leaving them alone.

“Hi, kid,” Emma says, with an amused smirk. “I came to say goodbye.”

“Say goodbye?” He steps back abruptly, an expression of incredulity on his face. “You can’t leave!”

“Henry, we’ve talked about this before.” Emma squats down and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I am not _leaving_ leaving. I’m just going to spend the holidays with my family. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“But they’re not your real family,” Henry whines, his little nose scrunching with confusion.

Emma winces, an ache gnawing at her from inside her chest, and she tightens her grip on Henry’s shoulder. “Henry, I…” She breathes in and wonders when life became a constant stream of moments where she’s out of her emotional depth. “Look, I know you think your mom is the Evil Queen and there’s some sort of curse going on...”

“Because there _is_.”

“Okay, but even if that is true, it still doesn’t change two very important facts: your mom wanted you and kept you when I couldn’t; my family wanted me and kept me when my alleged parents sent me off in a magical wardrobe to save them at a later opportunity.”

Henry opens his mouth to argue, but seems to think better of it. He does shrug Emma’s hand off and Emma pretends that doesn’t affect her.

“It’s just for a few days, okay, kid? I’ll be back before you know it.” She opens her backpack and takes out a poorly-wrapped gift. “Here, got you a present.”

For a moment, Henry looks like he isn’t going to accept it, but something wins out in the end, be it politeness or holiday spirit, and he manages to force out a grunted thanks. Emma pulls him into a hug and kisses the top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Henry.” She wants to tell him that she loves him but she’s not sure if she has the right to, or if it’s love when you’ve only known someone for two months despite giving birth to them. So she swallows it down and longs for the day when love comes to her freely.

“Merry Christmas, Emma,” he replies, with a tiny grin that fills Emma with warmth. “I’m going to get mom, she wants to talk to you.”

Now _that_ leaves Emma nervous and she fears she’ll have to carry more legislation binders all the way to San Francisco.

“Miss Swan,” Regina says, her head tilting to the side. There is weariness in her gaze and her posture is rigid, which seems unfitting for the more casual clothes she’s wearing.

“Hi,” Emma blurts out, eloquent as ever when faced with this new version of Regina. “Thanks for letting me say goodbye to the kid. You wanted to talk to me?” She can’t avoid how hopeful she sounds and is a little embarrassed by it.

“No.” Regina raises an eyebrow, the idea of her wanting to talk to Emma appearing so foreign in just a gesture, and Emma feels her entire body crumpling.

“Oh, okay. I got that wrong.” She hides her hands deep in her pockets and smiles. All things considered, she’s still getting to know Henry and Regina hasn’t told her to leave again. “Goodbye then, I’ll see you in a few days.”

Regina nods, her knuckles turning white where they’re still holding on to the doorknob, and Emma turns to go to her car.

“Miss Swan,” Regina calls. Emma spins around, a little too eagerly to be considered anything less than silly, and their eyes meet. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Regina’s eyes are crinkling with her secret almost smile and Emma’s heart jumps and stops and explodes.

_Regina remembers._

Regina hasn’t forgotten that part of her life, that part of her _identity_.

“Happy Hanukkah, Regina,” Emma says, voice groggy with emotion. “And a very merry Christmas to you both.”

*

Emma is sitting in Jack’s kitchen, sniffling every few seconds and with tears streaming down her face. “I fucking hate onions, Jane, why do I always have to be the one doing the chopping?”

“Because you’re useless at the fine art of cooking and I have to do everything else,” Jane deadpans, not being very skillful at drying the potatoes. “Just put the onions in the processor and shut up.”

“Oh please, like you’re an expert at anything other than ready-meals and microwave pizza,” Emma snarks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she follows Jane’s instructions.

“Emma Swan, your brothers asked for potato latkes and we’ll give them the damn latkes, understood?”

“I just got here and I’m already being forced into unpaid labor. Some sister you are,” Emma moans, picking up a fork to stir the eggs inside the bowl. “How much of these are we making anyway?”

“However many the recipe allows,” Jane grunts, frustrated with her battle against the simplest ingredients a recipe could possibly ask for. “We’re getting points for effort so I don’t care.”

“When are they coming home? It’s almost sundown.”

“Soon. Now let me focus or this will be a disaster,” Jane says, adding the grated potato and onion mix to Emma’s bowl. “Where does Jack keep the olive oil?”

Emma passes her the bottle and they work in relative silence the rest of the time, only a few expletives leaving their mouths as their clumsiness leads to short sensations of burning when the sizzling liquid hits their skin.

They are watching the oil from the latkes being absorbed by the kitchen paper towels with proud smiles on their faces when they hear the door and Emma runs out without a second thought. It’s been too long.

Jack sees her first, a dorky grin on his usually stern face. He steps forward and hugs her, tight tight tight, so tight Emma wheezes. His scent is of sweat and cologne and his arms are solid around her. Emma can’t help tearing up so she shuts her eyes and hides her face in his shoulder.

Josh, the less sentimental of them all, smacks her butt and steals her away, lifting her up with a spin. She squeals but laughs anyway, her nails digging into his back to keep her from falling.

“Finally the four of us together,” Josh comments, hands on hips like a proud grandfather.

“Is it latkes I smell?” Jack asks, perking up. “You two actually managed to pull that off?”

“Did you ever doubt we would?” Jane jokes, leaning against the kitchen’s doorframe. “They’re still too hot and the sun has already set. Candles first.”

Emma had never gotten used to any of it, the religious holidays and the different ceremonies and prayers. Hanukkah is not that important, but capitalist America had made sure it was the most convenient time for them to gather and so Hanukkah has become important to _them_.

Jack is always the one who lights the first night’s candle in the menorah and Josh is the better singer, even if they both go for it with their eyes closed. Jane and Emma just stand there, Jane very serious and focused, Emma a little awkward and overwhelmed.

She hasn't quite decided what God she believes in – Emma has met many in her life –, but in moments like this she finds she really likes this one, the one that brings her siblings together every year to celebrate the fact that they are still alive and that they haven't stopped loving each other.

(Emma doesn't think they ever will.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty, ~the actual~ Chapter 3 is turning into a monster (I am not kidding, think 20k+) therefore I decided to divide it into sections so we all despair less between waiting periods.
> 
> chapter title is from the song Wicked Game, Anna Naklab version.


	4. what a wicked game to play, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the love and gratitude to PhoenixTat for the beta and for putting up with my whining. You are the brightest star in the fandom universe.
> 
> Thank you also to mustdefine, thedorkone and dustywords for having word wars with me (how most of this chapter got written, ahem).

**_January 2012_ **

Archie’s office gives off a welcoming and soothing impression, much like the man himself, but Emma has never had any reason to trust mental health professionals and so she always deals with them with suspicion.

Her hands are sweaty as she sits on the leather couch and confesses, “I am not sure if I feel comfortable indulging Henry in this curse fantasy anymore.”

“And why is that?” he asks, chin tilting forward inquisitively. He looks both kind and like a bug and Emma can understand why Henry would cast him as Jiminy Cricket.

She harrumphs, frustrated that therapy is all about finding answers within yourself rather than having someone else give them to you. “I’ve been here for two months, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, he still believes in the damn curse and he still treats his mother like she’s the devil.” Emma glowers at him and he gulps. “I am not okay with that.”

“I understand,” Archie says, taking off his glasses and fidgeting with them in his hands, “but we still haven’t reached any conclusions as to why this fantasy is so important to him. And if I’m not mistaken, you don’t really indulge him, do you?”

“No, it’s too much for me.” Emma comes from a world of horrors where good fortune had found her by chance and even then she’d run from it. She doesn’t know what to do with happy endings and easy platitudes. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t let him go on with this delusion.”

“Children grow out of fantasies and ideas,” Archie reminds her with a weak smile. “I believe it’s important that at least you are here, by his side, and that you stand by him if he needs you.”

Emma can do that, but it doesn’t make her feel any better.

*

If Emma has to agree with anything about Henry’s obsession with fairy tales, it’s that the damn book’s illustrations bear an uncanny resemblance to Storybrooke’s citizens. Of course, unlike Henry, she assumes that’s due to someone in town having written the book, and not due to some terrible curse keeping them all here.

“Look, Henry, you have to admit it’s a very lousy curse if it was meant for Snow White and she’s a teacher instead of, you know, a junkie or a drunken vagabond.” She winces and slurps on her hot chocolate. Should she be talking about such things with a child? “And I mean, indoor plumbing and internet? I’m pretty sure the Enchanted Forest is way worse than the modern world.”

“It’s not about their professions and the town,” Henry explains over his milkshake. “Can’t you see they’re all miserable? Like something is missing.”

Emma shrugs. She has noticed there’s a sort of gloom about Storybrooke, as if everyone is just existing rather than living, but she’d just assumed that came with living in the middle of nowhere and having no further ambitions.

“Not everyone is miserable,” she argues, half-heartedly.

“No,” he agrees, and seems to be running facts in his head even if he’s not sharing for the moment. “There must be an explanation for that, I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Like you haven’t figured out why David is still in a coma and no one except you knows about the curse?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who knows about the curse,” Henry counters, using his finger to clean the inside of the glass from the final remnants of milkshake. “What I don’t understand is why you came back and the tower clock started giving the time again, but nothing else is working.”

"Henry..."

"I will prove it to you!" the boy exclaims, and while Emma expected him to be angry and confused, he appears thrilled. "I will prove to you that the curse is real!"

Emma doesn't even have time to reply as Henry starts running off, an idea on his mind, and she just hopes he won't do anything crazy, or worse, dangerous.

*

Graham is complaining about how she should wear a uniform or at least get rid of her horrendous red leather jacket – something that makes him sound suspiciously like Regina – when the call comes in.

“Sheriff department, Graham speaking.”

Emma wolfs down the bear claw in the donut box before Graham has the time to do so and looks at him with a curious gaze that becomes increasingly concerned as the expression on his face changes.

“What’s up?” she asks as soon as he puts the phone down.

“The mines collapsed.”

Emma furrows her brow, uncertain about the meaning of this. She didn’t even know Storybrooke had mines. “Is that bad? Does someone work there?”

“We gotta go.”

*

The drive to the mines takes longer than expected since most of Storybrooke seems to have had the same idea. The firefighters are already there when Emma and Graham park the car, which makes them both sigh in relief. Exploring caves doesn’t really come in the job description for the police.

“Any idea what made the mines collapse?” Graham asks the chief. “I thought the place had been cleared for safety?”

“Not exactly,” the bulky man replies, somewhat ashamed. “No one has come here in years; the mines have nothing left to be mined and are closed to the public.”

“So what caused this then?” Emma queries. She has a bad feeling about this.

“Sir?” a fire fighter interrupts, and he shows them the scarf in his hands. “We found this at the entrance.”

“Shit,” Emma says, all color leaving her face. “That’s Henry’s scarf.”

Graham touches her arm and starts talking, he might even be saying calming words to appease her, but Emma doesn’t care, she doesn’t even listen, all she manages to do is pull out her cell phone and press number 3 on her speed-dial.

_“Deputy Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure?”_

“Regina, Henry is in danger. I need you to come to the mines right now.”

*

Emma’s hands are so forcefully buried into her jeans’ pockets she wouldn’t be surprised if they ripped. She moves a little closer to Graham, aiming for some comfort. Everything about this sucks. Henry is somewhere inside a collapsed mine and Regina is pacing in front of the entrance, nails digging into forearms. Emma wants desperately to go to her, but they’re still at odds with each other and even if Regina doesn’t quite hate her, there’s a lot of bad blood between them.

The firefighters are doing the best they can, removing rocks and wreckage to try and find a safe route inside, but their actions lead to the mine’s entrance collapsing further and that only enhances her sensation of panic.

“Stop!” Regina cries, her voice breaking. “You’re making it worse!”

Emma can’t take it any longer and she goes to Regina, places herself between her and the men doing their job. “They’re trying to save him.”

“Well, they are horrible at it!” Regina yells, tears brimming in her eyes. “What the hell was Henry doing inside that mine?”

“I think…” Emma swallows, and fights against the instinct to hold Regina by the wrist. “I think he was trying to prove something… You know, about the curse.”

“And why does he think he has anything to prove?” Regina lashes out, rage coming out of her in waves that are almost tangible. “Who’s been encouraging him?”

“That’s not fair,” she says, shaking her head at Regina. “Do not put this on me.”

“Oh please, lecture me until his oxygen runs out!”

Regina walks away and Emma’s heart breaks. Regina looks so tiny and fragile and her arms are crossed so tightly that she’s practically hugging herself. This moment right here, this moment above all others, is the moment that makes Emma regret being such a massive screw-up. She shouldn’t be witnessing Regina’s agony from afar, she should be supporting her.

She decides to throw caution to the wind and approaches Regina again, “We have to stop this. Arguing won’t accomplish anything.”

“No, it won’t.” Regina’s eyes are bright with turmoil and Emma doesn’t remember having seen them like this. She doesn’t remember ever seeing Regina like this.

“What do you want me to do?”

There’s an instant of hesitation before Regina takes a step forward and in that second Emma imagines arms around her neck and apple-scented hair and a happy and safe kid. Regina is so close Emma has trouble breathing and focusing and everything else ceases to exist.

“Help me.”

A dog barks and the spell is broken.

“Sheriff,” Archie calls. “I think Pongo found something!”

“What is it?” Emma and Regina ask at the same time, moving together in his direction.

Graham and Archie are digging in the spot Pongo keeps barking at with the help of an Italian man Emma has seen but doesn’t know. She crouches down and starts digging with her hands, uncaring of how dirty she might get.

“It’s an air shaft,” Graham declares. “We’ll need to lower someone down.”

“I’ll go,” Emma says, not allowing room for discussion. “I’m fit, I’m light, I’ve done similar things before. Get me the gear and I’ll go.”

*

The air shaft seems to be a tunnel for some sort of elevator and Emma lands on top of it, feeling grateful when her feet touch something solid after the long way down.

“Henry?”

The silence around her is suffocating so she tries again, louder this time, “Henry!”

“Emma?”

“Henry!” she shouts, joy and relief and all the great emotions rolled into one burst of feeling. “Henry, are you okay? Are you trapped?”

“I’m fine, I think I found something!”

He sounds animated and enthusiastic, as if this is all a very exciting adventure instead of a life-threatening situation, and Emma breathes in deeply, promising herself she will remain calm no matter what. She opens the hook that ties her harness to the cable and jumps inside the elevator.

“Do you have a flashlight, Henry? Can you see anything?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Emma rolls her eyes at his tone. What a cocky little shit. That’s her son alright. “Follow my voice, Henry, I need to get you out of here.”

“Can’t you come meet me first?” His voice is near and it wouldn’t cost her much to yield to his wishes but they’re inside a fucking cave and Emma has felt enough terror today to last her for the rest of her life. “I want you to see this.”

“Henry, in case you haven’t noticed, the mine has collapsed and it’s pretty damn likely it’ll collapse some more,” she snaps, moving towards what she believes is his location. “We don’t have time to look at anything, I need you to come to me right now.”

He doesn’t reply and Emma starts playing with her flashlight, turning it on and off in some weird display of dyslexic Morse code that should be helpful in letting him find her. “Henry!”

She hears footsteps dragging their way through the gravel and breathes out a sigh of relief when she sees Henry’s pouty face show up at the end of the tunnel. It takes every ounce of strength she has in her body not to run to him.

“It’s right there, Emma,” he whines, hiding his hands in his coat. “It wouldn’t take us two minutes.”

“You can tell me all about it when we’re safe and sound above ground.” As soon as he’s within touching distance, she grabs his elbow and puts her arm around his shoulders. “Come on, kid. I hope you like extreme sports.”

His sulk is replaced with glee when Emma tells him to get into the extra harness and hooks them both to the cable, jiggling it three times like she had said she’d do as a sign for Graham to pull them up.

They reach the sunlight with equally big smiles on their faces and Emma, to hide her shyness due to everyone’s sudden round of cheers and applause, starts unclipping Henry so she can push him to his mom.

Regina holds on to his small form as if her life depended on it, her face hiding in his hair in what Emma suspects is an effort to conceal tears. Henry is reluctant at first, but after a beat his arms wrap feebly around Regina and it’s then that she looks up, eyes meeting Emma’s. She mouths a “thank you” with so much sincerity that it takes Emma’s breath away.

This is it, Emma thinks, watching them with longing brewing inside her chest. This is the life she craves for herself and she had never realized it until now.

 

* * *

 

**_February 2012_ **

Of all the things a paid public officer should be doing during working hours, hanging outside the mayor’s house is probably not one of them. The clock tower hits 11pm and Emma leaves the Cruiser, walking to the other side to lean against the passenger door.

The rain had been pouring all day, only stopping long after the sun had set. The road seems darker than usual and everything smells fresh and earthy, as if the world had needed washing and now was clean. Emma’s gaze gets lost in the blurry glow of the lamp posts for a minute and she takes a deep breath, enjoying the lulling atmosphere of the evening. It’s the first time she feels welcome in Storybrooke, embraced by the town itself. Places have energies and personalities and Storybrooke has been nothing but hostile to Emma so far.

She bumps her phone against her leg, struggling with the urge to look at it again, a battle that she loses after staring down the manor’s door with no results.

**Hi. Could you come outside? It won’t take long. :)**

The text had been sent fifteen minutes ago. Regina prides herself on being a politician and a business woman, she’s always on top of everything. She has read the text, Emma is sure of it.

But Emma also knows Regina. All the times they had seen each other since her arrival in Storybrooke had either been because of police duties or Henry being a brat, intent on vilifying his mother for the sake of hero-worshipping a virtual stranger. And all those times Regina had either taken pleasure in making her suffer with extra work or had been adamant in showing that, try as Emma might, she is still hurt, wary and, above all else, furious.

There _is_ something there though, somewhere deep inside, looming in the shadows. A curiosity perhaps, or a morbid fascination. Maybe even yearning for what they had lost.

Regina will let Emma wait and wait, Regina will hope Emma loses the waiting game so she can step outside, see only an empty street and call that a victory.

It’s really too bad that Emma has all night.

It’s almost midnight when the door opens and Emma snorts at Regina’s huff, noticeable even from afar. They both grow serious as Regina moves closer, her heels the only sound that can be heard, and Emma ceases breathing altogether. Regina walks with solemnity, her expression grave, and the light reflects all around her, giving her a golden hue that shouldn’t, couldn’t possibly belong to a simple human. It _hurts_ Emma, it hurts so much that she had seen this woman laugh, _she_ had made her laugh and feel good, and now they have been reduced to this loop of regret and mistrust and it’s all Emma’s fault. She whirls around and opens the car, trying to reign in all the emotions threatening to pour out of her.

“What do you want?” Regina hisses, from behind her.

Emma startles at the closeness and turns to face Regina, holding an old shoe box in her hand. “Hi.”

Regina glares at her and then at the box, scowling at the poor taste of it. Emma blushes because yeah, she’s kind of a mess and she sucks at this sort of thing. She scratches the back of her head and extends her hand, her knees buckling when Regina lifts one eyebrow, “What is this about?”

“Happy birthday,” Emma says, in a sheepish tone. “It’s not midnight yet so I’m still on time.”

Regina’s eyes betray her surprise for half a second but she schools her features back into a vaguely annoyed neutrality, her hands never leaving the pockets of her long coat.

“Sorry about the box, I didn’t have time to, uh…” Emma inhales and cracks a smile. “Well, to be honest I didn’t even try to wrap it, so there’s that.” She extends the box again. “It’s rude to refuse a gift, you know?”

Regina rolls her eyes and begrudgingly grabs the shoe box. “Good night, Miss Swan.”

“Night, Regina.” Emma watches her as she goes, committing those killer legs to memory, and only gets in the car after Regina is out of her sight.

She leaves the Cruiser at the sheriff station and walks home, a feeling of trepidation taking over her. Emma isn’t good at presents, or at loving people in general, and maybe offering away all the unsent postcards she had written to Regina during her travels after The Big Fuck-Up of 2009 – as Josh had so lovingly named it – isn’t the best idea she could’ve had.

Except Regina’s eyes would lighten up every time Emma shared one of her adventures and she would always ask for more and Emma had realized that sharing her stories with Regina had given them shape and meaning, which had then turned Emma into an emotional wreck whenever that stupid _The Story_ song played on the radio.

She enters the dark apartment and puts it all behind her. Fuck it, what’s done is done.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and her heart skips a beat when she sees Regina’s name on the screen.

**Thank you.**

If Emma falls asleep with a big dumb grin on her face, it’s merely a coincidence.

*

The hospital is swarming with activity and Emma has to dodge a few fast-walking nurses until she gets to the waiting room where she spots Regina calming down a tearful Kathryn while Henry flips through his book, oblivious to the chaos around him. Mary Margaret is pacing at the end of the corridor and, for now, going to her seems to be the safer option, so Emma does.

“What happened?” Emma grimaces at the sound of her own frantic voice. She had been half-asleep at the station, cuddling a kitten Graham had rescued from a tree that morning, when her phone had started an incessant row of messages and phones calls, all of them wanting her to go the hospital. “What’s this all about? I thought something had happened to Henry?”

“He woke up,” Mary Margaret whispers in a secretive tone, and Emma raises an eyebrow at that.

“What do you mean he woke up? Who woke up?”

“David!” Mary Margaret answers, not finding any sense in Emma’s question. “David woke up from his coma.”

Emma’s eyes widen and she turns her head in the direction where Regina and Kathryn are still talking. “Oh shit.”

“No shit,” Mary Margaret shoots back, very atypically, and Emma snorts.

“When was this? Tell me everything.”

“Remember how I told you last week that he had squeezed my hand out of the blue?” Mary Margaret starts, her chest reddened with excitement or anxiety, Emma can’t tell. “When I was reading him _The Fault in Our Stars_?”

“Yeah, yeah, then what?”

“I told Henry about it and the next day he brought his book to school and said I needed to be reading it to David instead of my… what was the expression he used?”

“Lame chick lit hits?” Emma suggests with a grin.

“Henry wouldn’t say that!” Mary Margaret argues, looking positively offended. “I think he called them adult lady books.”

“Also accurate,” Emma breathes out between fake coughs. “Get to the point, Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, of course.” She blushes and starts fiddling with her necklace. “I carried Henry’s book around for a few days with me but didn’t dare read it to David. I didn’t want to…” Mary Margaret looks down the corridor, to what Emma assumes is the location of David’s room. “I didn’t want to _hope_.”

Emma offers a faint smile and pats her arm awkwardly. It would take Mary Margaret to believe, even if on a residual level, in Henry’s curse drivel.

“But today I left the school in a hurry and didn’t bring anything else with me so I figured, why not?”

“She was reading him Snow White,” Henry says, right beside them, causing Emma to do a very embarrassing little jump. Why does everyone in this town like to sneak up on her?

“Is that supposed to mean something?” she asks, a little confused, catching Regina glancing at them.

“Emma…” Mary Margaret scolds, looking offended again and tilting her head rather pointedly. “You know…”

“Oh right, right. You’re supposed to be Snow White and David is your Prince Charming,” Emma says, not even trying to hide her derision.

“Yes!” both Mary Margaret and Henry say, in an excited chorus, and Emma wishes Regina was next to her so they could both roll their eyes at the absurdity.

“Okay, okay, this is a great coincidence, I will give you that,” Emma acquiesces, holding her hands up and not wanting to be dragged into their fantasies. “How is he doing?”

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Regina intervenes, resting a hand on Henry’s shoulder and pulling him to her. “The doctors are doing tests to determine brain and physical damage.”

Emma nods and looks beyond her, to where Kathryn is now sitting with her face hidden in her hands.

“Will he be okay?” Henry asks, staring up at his mother.

“We don’t know, Henry,” Regina tells him and Emma is taken aback by her uneasiness. “It’s too soon to tell.”

*

“Swan,” Emma groans into the phone, annoyed that her plans for showering had been interrupted.

_“Emma,”_ Graham exhales, and she knows her peaceful evening at home is about to come to an end. _“I need you to come to the hospital. That coma guy went missing and no one’s seen anything.”_

“I’m on my way.” She hangs up and stares at her half-naked body, deciding that there’s no point in changing into clean clothes if she’ll just end up sweaty anyway.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret calls when she sees her passing in the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“Apparently your Prince Charming went missing,” she explains over her shoulder. “I’m heading to the hospital to investigate.”

“Can I come?”

Emma falters by the door, pondering Mary Margaret’s unreasonable attachment to the case. “I’m sorry, for now I’ll keep it as police business. I’ll call you if we need to form search parties.”

*

Emma waves at Henry as she enters the hospital, unsurprised to see him there with Regina and Kathryn. She doesn’t stop for a chat since Graham is giving her instructions on how to get to the security room over the phone and she has more urgent matters to tend to, but she notes the tired lines around Regina’s mouth and Kathryn’s bloodshot eyes. It’s been an even longer day for them than it has been for Emma.

There are two short men yelling at each other in the security room when Emma gets there and Graham looks relieved to see her, sparing her a quick one-armed hug that she shakes off with her shoulders.

The security system is as old as the one in _Star Wars_ , worse-looking even, and Emma frowns at the disparity between what’s old and what’s modern in Storybrooke.

“Gentlemen,” Graham says, standing next to Emma with his hands in his back pockets. “Can I see the footage available for today, please?”

The two men argue some more until they find a tape and insert it in the player. The grumpier one elbows the other away and presses fast-forward, allowing them all to go through a regular day at the hospital at much faster speed.

“There!” Emma points out, patting Graham on the back. “Play that minute again.”

Grumpy, as Emma’s named him in her head, does as he’s told with minimal grunting and they watch as former-coma-guy David stumbles out of his room and clumsily makes his way out of the building.

“So I guess this is not a kidnapping case?” Graham comments, scratching the side of his beard.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma asks, brows going up to her hairline. “That guy has been in a coma for… how long?”

All the men shrug and not-Grumpy offers, “Years?”

Emma scoffs. Fuck this town and everyone’s shitty memory.

“Okay, okay, I get it, no one gives that much of a shit about the guy to know what the hell happened to him,” she says, gesturing at the screen with exasperation. “But you’re telling me that that man has been in a coma for fuck knows how long and he just walks out of the hospital like it’s nothing? He hasn’t used most of his muscles for _years_!”

Graham gives her a dejected smile that does nothing to dissuade her annoyance, “Maybe there’s a medical explanation?”

“There is no possible medical explanation for that. He needs physical therapy, not a walk into town with zombie superpowers,” Emma snarks, glaring at her boss. “When did this grand escape happen?”

“The system doesn’t indicate exact times, sister,” Grumpy tells her.

“The tape covers today from 4pm until midnight,” not-Grumpy adds, afraid Emma might snap again. “Or would, if we had left it recording.”

“It’s past 9 now, so the guy went missing in the last three hours.”

“How do you know that?”

“Henry texted me when he left the hospital,” Emma informs, resting a hand on her hip. “I don’t believe Regina would go home if David had been missing by then.”

“That door leads to the woods,” not-Grumpy says.

“He can’t have gone far.”

Emma and Graham leave the security room and walk to the front entrance of the hospital, where Kathryn approaches them, hands clenching and unclenching in front of her stomach. Emma looks away, uncomfortable with her pain, and sees Henry coming to her.

“I think I know where he went,” he mutters, as if he’s sharing a conspiracy theory.

“Where would he go?”

“The Toll Bridge.” Emma winces, remembering how that connects to something she’d read in Henry’s book. “He’s looking for Mary Margaret.”

Emma breathes in and out in a deliberate motion, a headache starting to throb behind her eyes. “You know what? We don’t have any leads other than David went to the woods. We’ll start there.”

*

Graham hadn’t asked any questions when Emma suggested going to check the bridge first. It seemed like a logical option for him, a place with light and possibility of human life among the shadows of the woods. They walk slowly, the woods dark and ominous around them, and Emma focuses on where she’s placing her feet.

“I thought you were good at finding people?” Graham jokes, intent on starting some sort of conversation, and Emma is grateful for the distraction.

“As we’ve established when we first met, I prefer the whole ‘tracking the digital print’ thing. I don’t really do trails and footsteps in the woods,” she counters, hurrying to his side. “I thought you were the master at pounding pavements?”

“It’s dark and I don’t have the sense of smell of a wolf, no matter how much you like to treat me as a puppy.”

“I just can’t help it, it’s your face.” Emma bumps into him good-naturedly and he laughs at her antics. “How far is the bridge anyway?”

“We’re almost there.”

The moon is high in the sky and somehow there’s a solitary lamp post by the bridge so Graham turns off his flashlight and they part ways to better explore the area. Emma pushes and pulls at branches and takes an inordinate amount of time examining every square feet of space, trying to keep away thoughts of dead bodies in the woods.

“Emma! I found him!”

She runs in the direction of Graham’s voice and a weight settles on her chest when she halts a few feet from the scene. David is lying on the margin, a streak of red on his face and the lower half of his body being fondled by the soft river waves. There’s no way a man who just woke up from a coma could survive such a state in the winter.

“Is he alive?”

“Do you know CPR?”

Emma nods and runs to them, kneeling by David’s head. “It’s been awhile,” she admits, trying to prevent the fear raging inside her from showing.

Graham makes a quick call to the hospital to get them an ambulance and then turns to Emma with a hopeful smile she neither needs nor believes in right now, but she appreciates Graham’s effort either way. “You’re our best bet so it’ll have to do. I’ll do the chest compressions and I’ll tell you when to do the ventilations, okay?”

Emma positions David’s head the best way she can and follows Graham’s calls of “go” whenever she needs to blow air into his airway. She keeps track of time by counting Graham’s compressions, her eyes glassing over as her mind drifts off. Her gestures become automatic and her arms hurt from how rigidly she’s sticking to her position but Emma ignores them, ignores everything but the cold that’s clawing at her like an invisible monster. It’s not even the cold from the night, it’s the much scarier cold that always strikes Emma whenever she’s faced with death.

“Graham,” she whimpers, squirming in her spot. “I think we should…”

David inhales in that precise moment, ragged and desperate, his eyes shooting open as if he’s waking up from a nightmare, and Emma loses control of herself. She starts laughing and sobbing, her body rocking back and forth as she strokes David’s hair from his forehead. “You’re alright,” she whispers to him as his gaze starts focusing on her face. “You’re alright.”

“Can you move?” Graham asks, covering David’s upper body with his jacket. David moves his toes in response. “Perfect, thank you.” He gets up and pulls David from the water, drying his bare legs with the sleeves of his shirt. “Do you remember anything?”

“Yes,” David says, his voice raspy as if it’s being pulled out from his throat. “I… I remember.”

“What’s your name?”

He swallows, and turns from Emma to Graham with a pained expression, “David. David Nolan.”

 

* * *

 

**_March 2012_ **

Emma strolls across the hospital at a leisurely pace, now so familiar with the place she could get to the most relevant areas with her eyes closed. The visiting hours are almost over, but working for the police allows her some benefits and Emma Swan is not the type to say no to such things.

She starts whistling a Disney song, her fingers tapping the rhythm on her belt, and when she notices that the corridor that leads to David’s room is empty, she takes a short run and slides all the way down to his door, holding on to the frame to stop the movement.

It is then that she notices Kathryn and flushes, trying to compose herself and pulling her hair away from her face with clumsy blows and inaccurate gestures, “Hi!”

Kathryn beams when she sees her, and Emma has no idea what she’s done to deserve this woman’s kindness and affection. Well, she sort of did save her husband from certain death but she’s not even sure the details of what happened were public knowledge. She hadn’t told anybody, at least.

“Emma,” Kathryn greets, standing up from the uncomfortable hospital chair. “It’s so nice to have you here.”

“Yeah, uh, I…” She points at herself and at a sleeping David using her two hands and flushes again as she realizes Kathryn isn’t understanding what she’s trying to say. “I come here sometimes to check in on David. Wouldn’t want him to run off into the woods again.”

Kathryn laughs and Emma’s insides fill with warmth and giddiness. There is something so _bright_ about this woman and Emma can’t help but like her.

“He told me what you did,” Kathryn says, a sheen of emotion in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Graham did most of the work, I just sat there scared to death.”

“There’s no need to downplay your part in saving David, Emma.” Kathryn reaches out and grabs Emma’s forearm, her thumb rubbing it softly for a few seconds. “He wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.”

“Just doing my job.” Emma shrugs and one corner of her mouth lifts up against her will. “Happy to help.”

Kathryn sighs and her eyes are now shining with a different emotion, one that Emma can’t quite pinpoint as she doesn’t know Kathryn all that well.

“Are you okay?”

Kathryn gulps and Emma shifts uncomfortably. She feels inadequate so often, but dealing with women crying ranks very high on the list of things she’s an absolute disaster at.

“Am I monster?” Kathryn asks, gathering herself to Emma’s infinite relief. “For not waiting for my husband and trying to find happiness again?”

“Don’t say that. David was in a coma for… how long again?”

“I barely remember a time when he wasn’t.”

“O…kay.” Emma raises a very disbelieving eyebrow. “For all you know, he might never wake up. And I mean, it’s not like you went around town trying out new candidates for husband, right? It just sort of happened?”

Kathryn nods and sits down, resting her chin on her hand. Her focus settles on David and she somehow manages to look both tormented and fond. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I, uh…” Emma huffs and hides her hands in her pockets. “I’m terrible at this kind of advice.”

“It’s okay,” Kathryn says with a chuckle. “I didn’t expect you to have an answer for me.”

“Sorry.” Their gazes lock and Emma’s breath catches. How is everyone in this town so damn gorgeous? “I should go.”

“I’ll tell David his savior passed by.”

Emma does a very awkward wave, her eyes fleeting, and exits the room, feeling like a nervous kid on the first day of school.

“Emma!”

She turns on her heels to see Kathryn standing by the door and she stops, not daring to go back.

“Regina, she… She’s very angry.” Kathryn pauses and Emma can see in her posture that she’s unsure of what she’s doing, uncertain if she’s breaking some sort of code or betraying Regina’s trust. “But ever since you came to town, she’s not sad anymore.”

Emma smiles, a big dopey grin that lights her whole face, and believes, for once, that maybe she’s doing the right thing. The other woman smiles back, her smile gentle but restrained, and Emma gets her cue to leave. “Bye, Kathryn.”

*

It’s not that Emma doesn’t like people, it’s more that Emma likes people in controlled doses and when she is the one who gets to choose her level of interaction with said people. Being a people’s person does not mean one enjoys being around humans all the time so Emma navigates the narrow spaces of Kathryn and David’s house until she finds a place where she can be alone. It’s convenient that there’s a bench by the staircase and even more convenient that from there she can see who’s getting in and out of the house and can also monitor the activity in the kitchen. That the bench is half-covered with everyone’s coats and scarves, allowing her to hide in proper urban camouflage, doesn’t hurt either.

There’s a “Welcome Home David” banner at the entrance and she’s lost count of the number of times she’s seen David give lukewarm handshakes to people he doesn’t even remember. He seems tethered to this world by Kathryn, and Emma feels for the guy. Having to rebuild your life pretty much from scratch isn’t easy.

She stares at the cuckoo clock by the corner and hopes staying for one hour is enough to be considered socially acceptable.

“Kathryn, why are you doing this?”

Emma startles and slides down on the bench, rearranging the pile of clothes so they shield her torso. She doesn’t want to eavesdrop but it’s _Regina_ and her body has very strict rules when it comes to the woman – mostly, erase everything else and direct full attention to her.

“I need the distraction, Regina,” Kathryn is saying, the cutlery and crockery tingling in her arms. “It keeps me busy.”

“It also puts more pressure on you,” Regina argues, and Emma melts. “Pressure is the last thing you need right now.”

“I wanted to do something nice for him.”

“You don’t have to exert yourself to prove that you still care about David.”

“How could I not?” Kathryn’s voice is getting that tremulous edge that makes Emma very nervous. “I feel so guilty…”

“Kathryn…” Regina sighs and hums, surprising Emma with her hesitation. Regina is nothing if not assertive. “Being married to someone is not the only way of loving someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that…” Regina huffs and taps her fingers on a surface, as if she should never have been caught in such a conversation, and Emma finds it adorable. “If you care for David, and want to help him, as a _friend_ , you could still be happy. All of you.”

“Emma, look, look!” Henry exclaims, running to her and landing on top of the clothes she had so carefully rearranged as a fort. “They’re talking!”

“What? Who?” Emma asks, baffled like a thief caught mid-crime. “Your mom?”

“No,” he replies, drawing out the word in a whine. “Stop worrying about my mom! David and Mary Margaret, look!”

Emma glances in the direction he’s pointing and grimaces at the sight. Drawing hearts around Mary Margaret would be less obvious than the hearts shooting out of her eyes and that makes her flinch with embarrassment since it’s clear David is just being polite. “Oh god,” she says, averting her gaze as fast as she can.

“Do you think they’ll fall in love with each other again?”

“Who knows, kid?” She snatches a scarf and hides her face behind it. “Anything is possible in this town.”

*

Graham is walking towards the Nolans’ house as she’s getting away from it. His hair is messy and well, Emma has seen a lot of looks on him, but spooked puppy is a first.

“Hey man, are you okay?” she asks, halting him with a hand on his chest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh no, no. I’m sorry, Emma.” He forces out a smile, but the glint in his eye is manic and does nothing to assuage her. “You were right the other time, I should’ve believed you.”

“I was right? Right about what?”

“There’s a wolf in Storybrooke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regina's birthday scene was inspired by [this gifset](http://iheartcanary.tumblr.com/post/65630704151).


End file.
